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Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Cenadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notas/Notas  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The 
tot 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


n 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverturo  da  couieur 


□    Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommagde 

□    Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  peilicuide 


n 
n 


Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  g^iographiques  en  couieur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couieur  (i.e.  autre  que  bloue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couieur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
ReiiA  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge  intirieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajouties 
lors  dune  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  ceia  itait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  iti  filmies. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  tui  a  iti  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-^tre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mithode  normals  da  filmage 
sont  indiquis  ci-dessous. 

□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couieur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^es 

I      I    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 


Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  peiliculdes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  o*-  foxe< 
Pages  ddcolordes,  tacheties  ou  piquees 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ddtachees 

Showthrough/ 
TranspErence 

Quality  of  prir 

Quality  inigaie  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materit 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


r~~l  Pages  discoloured,  stained  o*-  foxed/ 

I      I  Pages  detached/ 

rr]  Showthrough/ 

I      I  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 

I      I  Only  edition  available/ 


The 
pos 
oft 
film 


Orl( 
beg 
the 
sior 
oth( 
first 
sior 
or  11 


The 
shal 
TINI 
whii 

MaF 
diff( 
entii 
begi 
righ 
requ 
metl 


n 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partieliement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  cnt  itd  film^es  A  nouveau  de  facon  a 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


s 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires; 


Various  pagingi. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film^  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqui  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  hes  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Harold  Campbell  Vaughan  Memorial  Library 
Acadia  University 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


L'friKemplaIre  fllmA  f ut  reproduit  grAce  A  la 
g6nArosit6  de: 

Harold  Campbell  Vaughan  Memorial  Library 
Acadia  University 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  it6  reproduites  avac  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  at 
de  la  nettet6  de  i'exemplaire  filmi,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimis  sont  filmis  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impresGlon  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaltra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — ^  signifis  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  y  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
filmAs  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA,  il  est  filmA  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite. 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1  2  3 

4  5  6 


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THE 


iBAWHiis  m  mA®&m^% 


SECOJ\rD  EDJTJOJ^-^EJVLJSGEJD.' 


•WtTK 


OTTIEIL  POEMS. 


Where  the  sun  travels  low  in  his  chariot  of  light; 
And  the  stars  and  the  hills  are  together  at  night. 


BY  JOHN  NEAL. 


BALTIMORE: 

PUBLISHED  BY  N.  G.  MAXWELL. 


B.  EDSS,  FBIITTSB. 


1819. 


.M 


sl  \\n 


(•:-L<fe':**-  ♦a*iJie*^*j 


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fm^m 


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BE  IT  nEMEMBERED  TK 

-     ^,  PWI-IP  MOORE, 


r: 

•'"'F.  in  the  for- 
e  UnJted  Suite, 

lirtrHhathde. 
't;  njfht  whereof 
%  to  wiw- 

^''  with  other 


DISlDHd^ii^iDSI, 


ted  Statei,eii. 
■n^theeoiries 
»  inch  ooiiiet 
entitled  "An 
J«»««inei4t  of 
»»  to  the  au- 
'henein  men. 

ORE, 

fMarylara, 


'PERMIT  me,  my  earliest  and  best  friend,  to  offer 
you  this  small  acknowledgment  of  my  indebtedness 
not  merely  with  feelings  of  affection,  gratitude,  u,ui 
friendship,  but  of  veneration. 

Your's,,  indeed, 

Jiev.  JOHN  PIERPONT, 

Pofitor  of  HoUh-street  Church,  Boston. 


i^-il 


> 


I) 


ADVERTISEMENT 

To  ttie  Second  EAitioii. 


THIS  volume  conUins  several  small  poems,  entire- 
ly new—one  larger,  of  a  character  peculiar  to  itself:— 
part  of  another,  which  was  begun,  as  introductory  to  a 
regular  epick,  and  abandoned,  perhaps  forever,  from  a 
dread  of  its  interference  with  numerous  and  indispensa- 
ble  obligations:— It  contains,  moreover,  enlarged  and 
corrected  copies  of  Niagara,  Gomau,  and  a  few  lighter 
pieces,  that  have  already  been  before  the  publick  in 
different  shapes. 


1 


■  ■ .  »•■.-» 


0 


;j 


'ft. 


TO  THE  BEJiDER, 


IT  is  customary,  after  passing  the  ordeal  of  criti- 
cism— no  matter  how,  in  the  second  edition  of  any  book, 
to  make  a  few  civil  speeches  to  the  publick.  I  like  the 
custom—and  shall  avail  myself  of  it.  It  will  give  me  an 
opportunity  of  telling  a  long,  and  I  have  the  conscience 
to  believe,  a  tolerably  interesting  story,  in  a  manner,  the 
least  embarrassing  of  any  to  the  modesty  of  an  author. 

That  I  should  have  an  opportunity  to  publish  a  se- 
cond edition  of  my  mutilated  poems— JViog-a'-o  and  Go!- 
dau,  is  a  subject  of  considerable  interest  to  me,— I  will 
not  deny  it,— of  more  interest  probably,  than  I  shall 
ever  again  experience  for  its  iate— be  that  fate  what  it 
may.  I  speak  as  I  feel— I  care  but  little,  very  little, 
whether  it  overreach  a  third  editipn,  but  I  will  not  con- 
ceal,  that  I  have  waited  in  almost  feverish  anxiety  for  a 
decent  excuse  to  publish  a  second:— by  a  second,  I  do 
not  mean  such  second  editions  as  we  sometimes  see, 
struck  offsimuhaneously  with  the  first,*— correspond- 

•  Tliere  is  a  ridiculous  story  on  this  subject,  which 
I  must  tell— not  out  of  malice  to  any  human  being—but 
because  I  have  some  reason  to  believe  it.  One  of  our 
greatest  booksellers,  and,  by  the  by,  no  ordinary  wri- 
ter,  having  published  a  book,  which— some  how  or 
other— reached  the  tenth  or  twentieth  edition— in  his 
A2 


•  ••  ^      • 

viu 

ed~and  follovnns'  the  first.  ^^^«ed--correct. 

These  wore  mv  rcison«!     tk     /. 

ffraphical,  however-  thn„„-,  •         ^"""-"^h-efly  tjrpo. 

nuscript  for  the  prl  1'  t"^ '"''; '"  »P^'"g  '"y  «... 

whim  seized  me    the^„  !•.  '   ^^'"<:''»  the 

-.e  about  a3„u;etsTrr  "'  '«"'™^"-' 

-.ethe.   i'.a-e..herel:lt^,:;ltoV"'"'^'' 
■•"■  opportunity  to  do  ,„v..if  a„d  1       ™P»''"'=«  ft" 
Affain  -I  wanted  to  ded  1  e1.2  TV^'"^' 

fi«t,  though  a  io„»  a„r  *"  ""«  »""  -i^e  « 

J-medit^ve  :C"~.''^^»*P-"'"- 
^  --  ^ther  apprCens Lrt^-f  7'"^™'"''  ^''""'^ 

'"volvehis  reputation  at  aS  in Tftte  ""!■'    ""''  '" 
*«"a:h  the  book  ha,  parsed  fte  Itt  ^l  t"T  ™''' 

ven  that,  for  l„,"  ,  "'f '^  '='^'"'"'  ^"  '  ^ank  he., 

W  forbearance    'nourt  t„'°  "'"!\'"'"=^"°"'~"'«  ' 

P"Wiok,b,foreIhrX:h      -  ''"™"  """= 

by  a  deCar,,™  of  ^^fte   "  ^''^^cterof  auch  aman, 

i-een  unfavourable,  with  tl.,!!!^''.  If  "'at  decision  had 
.  with  the  countenance  of  such  a  poet 

edition:-  the  books  were  sca,v  i  T~"'"'  "«=  ♦«>'«'> 
fet  edition  arrived!  The  wror.  s  ^  n""?''"'  *''^'' the 
«l"ppcd  Cist.  '  ^""^^  '^"ndie,  it  appears,  was 


5  table  01'  er- 
JQ. — correct- 

Ets  crowded 
Wefly  typo. 
'^^ole  lines 
•ng"  my  ma- 
:ess  of  con- 
never  the 
*vagancies 
'  blunders 
itience  for 
ustice. 
rpont;  au- 
t  done  at 
>vild  have 

because 

felt  un- 
nent,  to 
en  now, 
als,  that 
nk  heC" 
-that  I 

of  the 
a  man, 
)n  had 
a  poet 

fourth 
!n  the 
SjWas 


in  my  favour,  I  should  never  have  Torgiveh  myself  or 
the  world. 

It  was  not  dedicated  to  him,  at  first,  for  another  rea- 
son;  a  trifling  one,  I  grant,  but  entitled  to  some  consi- 
deration.    Like  every  young  author,  who  fancies  him- 
self  a  genius,  and  where  is  the  author,  young  or  old, 
that  does  not?-I  felt  inclined  to  be  tried  exclusively 
upon  my  own  merits.    But  that,  I  have  since  found,  is 
impossible.   A  book  cannot  be  judged  without  a  trial. 
It  can  hav.i  no  trial,  unless  it  be  read.    And  who  will 
read  a  nameless  productionr~a  poem  too,  of  aU  things 
on  earth!  to  which  ^nd  for  which,  a  name  is  eveiy  thing 
For  example,  how  many  volumes  of  spurious  trash  h?.ve 
been  sold  under  great  names;  and  how  many  valuable 
books  have  re-appeared  from  their  obscurity,  after  a 
laps^  of  booksellers'  ages,  consecrated  and  gUttering 
with  the  name  of  some  au  Jxor,  whom  it  has  just  become 
fashionable  to  admire?    How  many  others,  at  this  mo- 
ment, are  awaiting  a  similai  call  to  a  similar  resurrec 
tion?  Every  bookstore  has  within  it  some  unknown  au- 
thor,  who  is  sUently,  but  surely,  working  himself  upward 
to  tile  elevation,  for  which  he  was  created. 

1  do  not  complain  of  this,  I  .should  be  ungrateful  if 
I  did.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  things^  it  must  exist  every- 
where; and  it  woiUd  continue  to  exist  in  America  long 
after  it  had  ceased^if  it  were  possible  for  it  to  cease- 
m  every  other  country.  We  have  too  little  national 
pride;  too  litUe  of  that  lofty  vanity  which  rivets  the 
heart  of  an  Englishman,  or  Frenchman,  upon  the  pro- 
ductions  of  his  own  country.  For  myself,  I  do  confess, 
hat  I  should  not  bo  veiy  forward  to  encounter  a  vo- 
A3 


I. 


^ 


■i 


/  I 


I      * 


ii     1 


'd 


pages,  like  this,  without  some  resnppt»Mo 
and  if.  w„„M  „„,  ,  a„  „„.  M       let  To- 
others m  this  ».oHd,  that  would  "*"^ 

other,  under  a  s  lent  nretence  nf  »,■  ■ 

-•eproach,  that  -two  rfa  trade  5  *  ""''^  ""  '"'' 

trade  can  never  aoTP^."  k.,* 

so  thr  h-  ^  """^""^  ^^^'^  balanced.    At  least. 

•  -.Che  ^ea«,u.anc.rB„rr/reTh:j:^ 

havfdor -t  .To^Z  "  ''"'^'  ""'-'^  "--  ""^-^ 
Another,  and  a  most  important  cause  of  my  desi,* 

tost.  I  has  been  un.versally,  indignantly,  and  I  must- 
«"»•  I  <""  ashamed  of  it:  I  „^  ashamed  of  i»  from  the 
e'terwte're  .Tad™:?  "'  ''"-'^ -— - 

c~es,rhrm:ht-rCd^:'ti:::- 


'i 


u 


^ 


.4 


fr^    ; 

B'i? 

'.  i 

P 

1  ^ 

i"  two  hundffed 
ble  guarantee: 
ere  are  many 

it,  at/w,  ttt 
ibjecting  my. 
Lietish,  dandy- 
nd  Hunt,  whtf 
tions  at  each 
away  the  old 
'  agree;"  but 
ulating-  cour- 
by  an  inter- 
:hes— to  see 
^eatest  poet  iti 
^'     At  leastj- 
■  no  inclina- 
ya  easier  i'of 
ve  changed 
nd  shall  not 
ause  others 

"  my  desire 
'age  of  the 
and  I  must 
2  matter  i» 
,  from  the 
sen  much 
inder  cir- 
lis  place,* 

■a  of  them  = 
ompleted?    ' 


1 


—I  abandoned  my  first  purpose,  which  was  to  print  . 
it  with  a  modest  title,  under  a  fictitious  name;  and 
adopted  Uie  rascally  burlesque,  which  now  disgraces 
tie  volume.  It  was  severely  censured  when  I  began 
to  bluah  for  it;  but  then  I  had  too  much  obstinacy  to 
acknowledge  my  folly,  or  to  atone  for  it. 

I  have  been  baited  too,  for  disingenuousness,  as 
others  have  chosen  to  callit-but,  as  it  really  is.  for 
falsehood-lying-in  the  prcface.-I  deserved  it.  I 
did  wrong.  Yet,  as  it  was  anonymous,  mostly  true, 
and,  as  I  then  thought,  though  I  now  think  differently, 
imocS,  because  not  maUcious,  my  conscience  did  not 
reproach  me-or  I  would  have  burnt  the  boob,  and  the 

in  secresv.    I  had  good  reason  to  believe  that  nobody 
knew  of  it.    It  was  to  have  appeared,  as  I  have  alrea- 
^V  said,  under  an  assumed  name.    One  evemng-in  a 
.    literary  club-a  friend  of  mine  palled  otit  a  sheet,  pur- 
porting  to  be  poetry-'twas  the  Battle  of  ^^a^-ff-'-T 
Ft  was^n  impe^rfect  proof-and  the  form  was  folded 
wrong-the  beginning  of  the  third  canto  too,  which 
has  been  so  praised!    He  wanted  my  opinion  of  it.  I- 
Of  course-pr»ised  it.    Some  agreed  with  me.    One 
percon  half  suspected  me-the  others  did  not.    One 
declared  it  to  be  «o  awash  of  magnificence!    &c.   >  And 
in  that  way,  I  was  roasted,  in  a  manner  perfecUy  dehght- 
ful  to  an  author,  for  about  half  an  hour.    After  that- 
I  knew  the  only  way  to  protect  the  poem  from  the  con- 
sequences  of  this  precipitate  judgment-was  to  ac- 
knowledge  it,  so  far  as  that  these  genUemen  should. 
•  know  thi  author-while  the  world  would  not.    1  or 
that  reason,  I  printed  it  under  a  «clubicula;J   name, 
which  had  been  mischievously  assigned  me     The  mot- 
to was  chosen  in  the  same  spirit   The  couphng  of  "stars 
and  rainbows"  appeared  too  fair  ^jnf ^  ^^^''/^^f  f""* 
to  escape  it,  and  therefore,  I  thought  it  best  to  set  it  at 

defiance. 

A4 


MfcMM 


|y>:    f 


4 


xii       . 
hand  that  wroto  Jf  ♦ 

P-nction,  with  .he  hope  ,h      h!  7"^"''  "^  ""^  »n,. 

-Wte,  at  the  bottom  oVtC'ttri'  '"  ""*  ^-^ 
J-e»pomi6|e  for  its  truth  "''''>'•  h""  myself 

'e-.!:r-r:r^rh"r^-'"-^<'-- 

te'feinthelasteantoisfaithfuU  *        '  '''"^  "■"'-«"« 
«<>  'he  Io„g.talt  of  our  Ctlm'  T"™''"'  "«'"^"g 
™y=  and,  a,  I  have  kelV^^''^''"  """=-^-'"  '"' 
P"en,,ofa„  event,  within  arm^.       f"°* 'V'-ke  a 
The  question  was  sh,,  "^^^-f    o^eve^^o,,. 

'he  sceneo-,  or  only  versiff  ,1     /  """^"^  *^'»"«  «> 
Mon  reti^s,   I  ehoae  ,h   fl  ""^"'^'  """^  -<•  '■at.      ; 
because,  as  yet,  we  have  no  i!!'-""" '"''  "•"  "an,es 

-*:"•"■"- give  dig„:n::r:r'''"  ""^-h. 

It  IS  very  possible  anrttfc„  ^^  '  '^""■ 
y»t  I  would  throw  byX'^fr^^^'d-tapoIogize,     ' 
*-*^,  (because  I  Sr^^^^ZT  ''"""^^'  ''»' 
apologizingandsi„„i„„)_fj,""  ''™<""  ">  keep  on       - 
«;"^me  and  uninteresUn  '    oa"  "     ""  ™^  •"=  ^'T       ' 
«e  about  the  number,  orU*!"  T'  "'"'  "^-^  «^ 
"hioh  I  ...  ostentatiously  eXK,""^  "'''"'^■" 
tlus,  and  an,  q„ite  wear/o,  s^l  I'l'':'^'  '  "o  "•"  "^'ieve 
and  custon.,  what  I  do  not  bThl^'    ""^^  "'"  "'"^H't, 
'eeapi.uia.ion.    The  reas„'    ,  r!.-,'  """  ""«■"-  .h; 
«'h;  but ,  have  a  tale  tTtT  „     "'  '  ""'^  ""^  "one 
''ftf-'  of  al,  themes  .oal  ll  "■•"'"■'  '"^--tde- 
.other,  may  think  of  i,  ij  ,"""•'  »"""=h,  whatever 

'"-- •""■^--hefotro:";!---: 


Xlll 


a  few  moments;  ifUe  complies,  it  will  be  for  his  advan- 
tage, I  trust;  and  if  he  will  „ot,  he  has  only  to  shut  up 
the  book;  for  he  can  do  as  he  pleases  about  readin.  it 
It  ,s  not  so  with  me.  ,  am  under  the  necessity  of^in^ 
^t.  There  IS  very  little  of  free  agency  in  this  part  of  my 
busmess.  There  is  a  story  connected  with  this  poem^ 
r  have  promised  to  tell  it-and  I  will  tell  it,  whateve; 
be  the  consequences.  "-iievei 

But  first  it  may  be   well  enough  to  give  a  sort  of 

K,graphicalsketch-aparentage->birth,L.  8cc.  of  the 
book,  aocordmg  to  Uie  practice  of  most  people  about  to 

cknowledge  their  bantlings_or  .^as  the  French  dll" 
dlegxtimates-theirye,,.:  cFdpHt*  I  shall  do  this-and 
as  I  think  from  a  good  motive.  Perhaps  I  am  mistaken 
--It  may  be  nothing  but  vanity:  and  I  dare  say  it  is,  al- 

.  hnic  ,t  ,s;  because  I  should  call  it  vanity  in  another 
at  him  make  ever  so  many  protestations  to  the  contm  y. 

ses  as  led  Rousseau  into  areiteration  ofhis  sins,  unde 
pretenceof  confessingthem;  and  yet  I  do  not  despair-  ' 
convincing  him;  by  my  manner,  for  I  shall  make  ^ 
more  professions  on  the  subject,  that  I  am  actuated  by  ' 

:o:fe!:i:r^^'^"'^"'^^^^^^^^^ 

I  wish  it  were  possible  that  my  readers  could  forget 
tor  a  moment,  that  the  author  is  addressing  them    it 

ance  of  his  reflections.    But  that  is  impossible.    I  Lve 


* 


*  Lady  iMorgan., 


~_:_««>«»..*5afci 


i 


'  XIV 

t^ien ,  oiUy  one  favour  to  ask-.wli  Ar,  f  I 

sot;«j«  *  ^"^'"—^at  he  would  first  K* 

so  kind  as  to  assure  himself  that  it  i,  egotism     iTu 
first  ask  himself  if  ♦»,»     u  '=«^o«sin.    Let  hini 

sur^ewouIdZlbl  ,U''''":''°"  "''"'"^'"»  ««- 

would    h.  .        •'^'"  *""■  »»*"■'  Mid  if  it 

would-he  19  welcome  to  rail  it  eeoU™     ,,  •        j 

ffmce  to  be  accused  of  maHn,      f  """0<1«- 

thoush  ,„„elves  1  thel"4rofT  "'"'"'«"-'' 

such  i,  my  doctrine,  and  if  itwo„,d  1  h     t'*  '*'"' 

oiousin  a„oU,er.  wh,,the„  he  i    "ll"::  r'"'^' 

™y  vanity,  the- poem,  and  whoerrTi     .  '"^' 

pleaaes-ifsuchh-h-.      °.  '"•"'«  ""kI  whatever  he 

■  from  hiJrop'm"''":^"'""'"''*''" -''»■''«« 

To  make  aloLatol^t"'*:  »«■■»'»'  hypocriay. 
the  hope  of  beingSo  „^'  '  ""^""""'■^  »  '^' 
ed  with  this  itch  fortfj^"  "'■'r  *°  *""'■''"* '*«'=«■ 
«ay-My  Doem  h  ^-  "»"«  P««=«d  method!- 

intedout.    SrwZm'rf ''*""'"'«  """ 

<'««»yyouwiui.„Imi^,r  "*'""*"•  '""^  • 

•eree  with  one  A<,i/of  mv!!.-  '"^^'"  '">  '^  y™ 

womdnotgivesiin^L.,     t      '*'^— '^"f'  honestly,  i 

-ered^n'erl   onr"""^  OamneA-provided  it 

other.    AwS  °  '         '*'°^''°"'""'"'''"«he 
°*  "^'"^ '»«»'  «ver  was  UMverpally,  .»d 


XV 


sincerely,  »nd  rationally  admired.    If  it  had  any  genius, 
it  must  be  eccentrick,  and  must  find  enemies,  of  course. 
The  examples  of  Homer  and  Virgil  are  nothing  to  the 
point.   Not  one  in  a  thousand  of  those,  who  affect  to  be 
transported  out  of  their  senses  at  the  mention  of  their 
names,  has  ever  read  either— even  in  the  translation. 
What  then  can  they  understand  of  the  subject.'    It  is  all 
moonshine;  their  very  unardmty  proves  that  they  speak 
without  judgment  or  understanding.    It  is  impossible 
for  many  persons  to  agree  on  a  subject  that  they  undei^- 
stand.    It  is  impossible  for  men  of  judgijient  to  have  the 
same  opinions  on  any  subject  of  mere  taste;  therefore,  it 
is  impossible,  because  all  mankind  are  unanimous  in  their 
admiration  of  Virgil  and  Homer— that  they  should  un- 
flerstand  them;  or  indeed,  have  any  opinions  at  all  upon 
the  subject.    In  truth,  such  popularity  is  always  dis- 
graceful.    There  are  persons,  whose  approbation  would 
be,  and  ought  to  be,  death  to  a  poet. 

But  the  fact  is,  we  have  inherited  the  prejudices, 

with  the  property  of  our  forefathers.   All  our  opinions 

so  unanimous— and  so  inflexible,  of  the  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans, can  be  traced  through  a  long  course  of  tyranny, 
during  which,  this  veneration  has  been  whipped  into  us 
at  school;  and  laughed,  or  declaimed,  or  talked  into  us, 
during  the  remainder  of  our  lives;  up  to  the  time,  when 
Rome  overran  tlie  world  with  her  armies  and  criticisms. 
Tliis   uniform    extravagance    and    enthusiasm    for 

the  ancient  classicks,  is  not  the  result  of  judgment 

reasoning,  or  conviction;  but  of  tyranny,  conquest, 
afld  education.  For  example;  there  are  only  two  poets, 
whom  the  world  are  imanimoiisin  admiring— Homer  and 


m 


mtut" 


r 

.**(,  ■ 

k 

'  1 

.•<t 


ivl 


country,  the  M,l.o„  rf  E„gl,„d,  .„d  t«so  of  Italv 

.mage  of  God  Almighty  had  degenerated  in  the  coun 
poems  have  ever  been  „„iv„alh,  admired,  all  other 
But  he  was  wromr     Poem«    oo  ^neid. 

been  produced,  but  t L^  a^L  XTh"  ^'"'"'  "'"= 
unlike  eaoh  other.  Arfos^:  t^Zl  "1  '  "" 
imagination  than  Homer  and  Vir^H  TT  """^ 

-er  ellUd    T"^:."'"'  ^''="''«'^-«'«  "either 

H.  tharSer'„:r:,^:cr^tr^'•"'^"' 
orHome;r:~i;:;:rnS,t^^^^^ 

-and  outrageous  plagiarism,  (sometimes  o    ."- 

lowed  an,l  .„K  1      .  :       '      ' '"'  '*  oonsecrated-hal- 

"■      B'".'>"»"tl,e  measure  of  inteUoct.  and  eh.. 

# 

■ao;™ij:,:sti*a°-i~;l^^--'p»«o,,,ariror. , 


XVll 


racter;  the  vices  and  virtues  of  both,  are  always  in  the 
same  proportion.  It  is  true,  by  the  by,  that  !  am  no 
Greek  scholar.  I  cannot  read  Homer  in  the  original; 
and  if  I  could,  it  is  probable  that  a  translator,  who  has 
spent  whole  years  in  studying  him,  would  render  him 
more  lauthfully  and  vigorously  than  any  mere  reader 
could— but  I  have  read  him  in  translations;  one  by 
Pope,  who,  they  say,  is  a  poet;  and  one  by  Cowper, 
whom  I  know  to  be  one.  By  these  translations,  there- 
fore, I  shall  take  the  liberty  to  judge  him.  The  true 
reason  then,  of  this  universal  suffrage,  is  this.  The  most 
distinguished  Romans  adopted  the  opinions,  with  the 
language  of  Greece.  And  we  have  worn  the  opi- 
nions of  her  criticism  on  all  subjects — as  we  have  worn 
her  chains— thfe  trappings  of  our  subjection.  Had 
Milton  been  a  Greek,  or  Tasso  a  Roman;  had  Homex 
been  an  EngUshman,  and  Virgil  an  Italian;  the  repu- 
tation of  each  would  have  been  entirely  different  from 
what  it  now  is.  The  whole  world  would  have  worship- 
ped and  trembled  at^  the  name  oi*  Milton  and  T<asso: 
vhile  England  would  have  clung  in  solitude  to  her  Ho- 
mer: and  the  sepulchre  of  Virgil  would  have  been  con- 
secrated to  the  adoration  of  Italy  alone. 

But  to  return— on  such  themes  my  feelings  are  un- 
governable; and  I  must  be  pardoned,  if  they  some- 
times hurry  me  away  from  the  subject.— All  I  ask  then 
—speaking  of  my  book — is  to  have  it  read.  Praise  it, 
or  damn  it,  as  you  please.  Judge  as  you  please  of  it — 
for  yourselves;  say  what  you  please  of  it,  and  do  what 
you  please  with  it.  I  have  no  disposition  to  avert  your 
severity.    I  shall  frequently  deserve  it;  and  I  shall  likh 


if* 


fn 


^mc 


( 


I 

7 


xviii 

you  the  better  for  ejpreMin,  it_bu.  rf„  ■.  ,.^ 
P'-mp,  and  to  the  point     D„„.,  f  „      ''''  "  ''''"'  "»"' 

ever  others  may  say  of  it  V  ^'  ^°"  *'  »''"'• 
»elve..  ,  know  its  fcnit  J""  ""  '°  •'""''f^  •"<"  ^O'"- 
P''"'-    It  ha,  „o  ca?rL!^  ^-i        '"""""^"''le.  and 

-nnot  htaeCC  ',7"'  ™'«"=-    S"ch  as  .you 

«onsense,  one  or  the  other  if  .  outrageous 

■"edium.    Ofcour,e,ify„"';'r     =•    """^^ "  "" 

"-i'-in  you.  you  m„;  eXer    ^  ru/r,"''""''-^ 

heart  and  exclaim_..weU   i„  .7.      7 .         ™  ''""^ 

'•po*ry,»  orvou  Z..        ^       "^ '^  '*»  f"""'.  it 

a/s'"o;:^r:''7;~:::"\'-"''''"«-oe„„ho. 

for  himself,     w  ZZlT  /  '"'■^  '''«'"  ">  J-dse 

->i»  judgment     e:^  er  ;fjh,e7T''  '  "^'  '-"^ 
if  otherwise,  I  shall  Z.     "         ^""'  ""^'W  ^oubt; 

a"  author,  ;„  tt  1:::  11'  '?,'^^'"^'  ^-^ 

"•V-AH-iei.„,Z'        """'''  *"*•-''"'  never 

«f  -e  parts,  .IZ^Z^J;:!''-  '  --  cut 

fortunately,  the  parts  I  did  nl^Z    l""''  ■""'  ™- 

"•«  I  liked  the  L,  th  y  Ifed  2  "T  **  """' 

oa>e,  what  was  r  to  do'     f  ,      .    T  '    '"  '""''  " 

•  abused  the  publick,  and     ';e:;'L*','  "'=^''' 

"^  -  -'eh  they  have  r^to'l^  att: 


'W^- 


% 


XiX 


thor,  as  to  the  bed  of  Procrustesr,  and  lop  him  into  cor- 
respondent proportions.  I  mean,  by  that  standard,  the 
conscience  and  taste  of  the  poet.  He  is  bound  to  fol- 
low his  own,  be  they  what  they  may.  Otherwise— if 
he  accommodate  himself  to  the  taste  aitd  judgment  of 
others— if  he  succeeds,  they  get  all  the  credit— and  if 
he/a»&,  he  gets  all  the  disgrace.  No— I  choose  to  fol- 
low my  own  opinions,  right  or  wrong,  and  be  respon- 
sible, as  a  Christian  is — to  my  own  conscience,  not  to 
that  of  any  other  man. 

And  truly,  it  would  not  be  expected,  that  I  should 
iop  off  the  very  part  that  my  criticks  liked!— it  would 
be  an  insult.  They  never  would  forgive  me!  And  yet 
reader,  (though  you  see  by  this,  what  I  could  say  in  my 
own  defence  if  I  had  kept  "all  and  more  too'*) — yet — 
after  sAl— that  is  exactly  what  I  have  done.  Where  I 
have  omitted  any  thing— it  has  been  what  some  criticks 
have  particularly  admired  And  two  or  three  other 
passages,  tolerably  be-praised— I  have  ventured  to 
play  the  devil  with,  "on  my  own  account  and  risk." 
Besides  all  this,  however,  I  have  struck  out  not  a  few 
parts  that,  at  different  times,  I  have  tolerated — but 
never  liked. 

After  Niagara  and  Goldau,  you  will  find  a  number 
of  odes,  songs  "and  things" — that  were  manufactured 
a  long  while  ago,  and  published  in  the  Portico.  Some 
of  them  have  fire,  and  spirit:  and  others  are  remarkable 
only,  for  a  kind  of  lady -like  sentiment— something 
a-la-M oore- a  sort  of  she-poetry.  My  reason  for  pub- 
lishing tliem  is  this:  I  want  a  copy  for  myself—in 
a  more  portable  shape.    Tliis  is  the  true  reason.    I 


I 


I 


rr 


XX 

and  all  U,at;-but  they  are  old  rcasona-and  ,w,  i»  a 
new  one,  and  thepcfni-^  :„  ~ 

.  au<i  merctore,  in  my  opinion,  the  bc»t 

of  ll  .?'  "*  "''''"'  ■"""'  ''"'f  "dozen  short  pieces 
"Which  the  reader  i,  ..queated  to  fom,  hia  0^0^' 
"■on.    He  should  have  mine,  but  that  I  have TotTe" 
Cr,;  %'""°'':'""''°""""'  -"  ""'"'•ot « 

^o.t:;,rittst:rT:,r"^°""- 

othels  and  /„«,.  ,00,  have  gone  to  enthusiasm,-for  my. 
self,  I  have  no  great  opinion  of  it-it  is  fiery,  imrep  d 
and  fa„c,fu._but  I  do  not  think  half  so  lugS;  of  Tt 
of  soine  othe«,  upon  which  some  of  my  very  be 

caU  then,    .exceedingly  fine"  or-exceedi„gly  crazy 

Which  ,t'    '7      ""'  """='  """  P"'^  ''f  "Po™-*- 

col  fi  \  ''  "'  ""'-"""  '  ">  "^  "-"-1  that  I 
could  finish  it-as,  have  begun  it-1  should  ask  no 
other  reward  for  wasting  iny  life  on  it.    But  ,  "  ni^t 

c~  its  ::T-  ""'""  "^"^"""^  -^'«-«cot 

ountry-whichlonce  intended  to  embodv-but  now  r 
«n,«(_and  hereafter,  Im,«  not.  '     ''"'"™'' 


XXI 


And  now,  f  am  about  making  some  remarks,  for 
which  I  c'xp<*fct  to  be  generally  and  heartily  quizzed, 
roasted,  and  what  is  infinitely  worse— criticised*  But 
—no  matter— so  the  book  only  is  abused,  I  have  no 
fears  for  my  peace  of  mind.  I  could  abuse  it  as  heijr- 
tily  as  another;  and  with  much  more  reason  too,  I  am 
sure,  than  any  body  else  has  dont,  to  my  knowledge. 
And  as  for  myself— pciaonaily— the  reviewers  have  no 
terrors  for  me.  What  they  can  do  in  decency;  I  know 
they  will  do— ard  Uiey  may  do  it,  in  welcome.  What 
they  do  beyond  that— they '  are  responsible  for,  not  to 
me— for  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  the  whole  "boiling  of 
them"— but  to  the  publick. 

To  business  then.— 1  give  the  history  of  this  poem 
—for  the  advantage  of  others— not  for  myself.  I  have 
now  done  with  poetry.  My  ambition  is  now  of  a  dif- 
ferent character.  It  -waa  a  passion  Ayith  me;  but  one, 
however,  which  I  made  subservient  to  my  necessities. 
I  have  written  enough  to  show  what  I  conld  do,  if  I 
pleased.  I  have  no  idea  of  mincing  the  matter— there 
is  poetiy  in  my  veins— 1  know  there  is.  I  believe 
that  I  could  contribute  to  the  reputation  of  my  coun- 
try—and what  is  more.  I  think  I  have  proved  it.  I  say 
all  this  the  more  freely,  because  I  have  now  bidden 
adieu  to  poetiy— because  I  have  other,  and  more  com- 
manding duties  to  fulfil.  And  probably,  I  do  not  say 
r/^tai'ly — I  do  not  promts*  absolutely,  because  if  I  did 
J  ..L.     d  adhere    c  it  at  all  events,  and  under  all  temp- 


t 


yer. 


Perhaps  too— by  some  thick-headed  Boston  law- 


J 


xxii 

'""''"'-^•""y.  this  is  the  ta  wor-- »/„•    .\ 

«««erappe.rbef„rethep„bBck  untiU  1.  '^''• 
l.ter«,  «p«.ado„  ^U  be  of  „„  ^"J"^^'  »  """»«  » 

-»<-  some  n,«,  nee  a-        ButT  ""i  "^'  "'  *" 
"evoient  and  kind,  ha,  ^«^1,  "  entte      \"'  *'  '"• 

of  <t    And  as  for  the  .„.„    .  '"''•'"* 

on  that  point     ,  L      i.    !.        ""  P^^'^^  "«>quil 
».'  S!.woTe     i,*;™.'''"d''f™*«Ungs-b„t  I  „e. 

the  reach  of  sarc^r  andTh      kT^  *"  •"  ■"'  "'^""d 
I  should  advise  wr.rt!.       ''"*  '  '"'"='*"^' 

»ise™b,ej:t:^:r:::t't:™':a  "\"'"''  -^ 

q..ick  sensibility  to  DUBovil       •       """J'-"''"  •"'  » 

--.thejo..'zt2:r:r:t:i."' 
«:^::XTdoifn-^^^^^^^^ 

not  to  be  precTmtr         '       ''  ^'"  '°'*  ^°"'  ^^^^ 
precipitate  m  your  judgment     Yn..  k 

more  to  lose  by  it,  than  i  have.  ^^^^ 

Why  am  I  thus  tedious?    It  U  m^  ««:    i 
wm  not  find  it  tedious-toe  lodo'^H^^'-    '""' 

-thin.ei,.aeh.    nis.h?r"ti^"'.'',r;sS 

wa;„f;uTL«i^!!&^-ts^"r-^ «  *« 


of  mine*  Uia. 
il  I  am  where  a 
e. 

i^etrj',  idonot 
for  I  conscien- 
» I  do  believe 
t  will  ever  oe 
y  smile  at  this 
ile  of  the  be- 
inshme  to  me, 
2  the  subject 
ictly  tranquil 
■s— but  I  ne- 
they  must  be 
le  be  beyond 
a  blockhead, 
He  must  be 
-who  has  a 
satire.    If  j 
know  it. 
beginning-, 
stice.    You 
ou  will  be- 
your  sake. 
You.  have 

je.  S9me 
a  remedy 
I  shall  be 

^d  in  the 


'■-T 


XXIU 

.  d  fo"  talking  of  myself,  and  I  am  willing  to  make  the 
HiOst  of  it.  I  have  just  spoken  my  farewell  as  an  au- 
thor; ind,  somewhat  ludicrously  I  confess,  "ninted  that 
though  I  should  not  publish,  yet  I  should  continue  to 
Tmt0.  And  so  I  shall— but  it  yt^ill  be  subordinate  to  my 
dufes— 1  shall  write,  as  others  drink-for  exhilaration. 
I  feel  that  I  can  contribute  something  to  my  home— 
and  my  cour.  jy:  For  sometimes,  I  feel— what  I  cannot 
readily  describe— a  trembling  and  glowing  through  the 
whole  system— and  have  been  heated  in  composition, 
till  the  page  grew  luminous  before  me— and— but  a  Phi- 
ladelphian  may  observe  that,  these  are  exactly  the  qua- 
lifications required  in  a  candidate  for  the  Pennsylvania 
Hospital;— I  should  forgive  him,  if  he  did— and,  there, 
fore,  I  hold  it  to  be  my  duty,  when  I  cdn  afford  it,  to  leave 
some  proofs  of  the  illnmination  that  an  American  can 
experience,  when  gazing  upon  the  wonders  of  Ameri- 
can history.  I  think  it  is  my  duty— -because  I  think  I 
have  the  power.  Others  have  it  also— I  pretend  to  no 
exclusive  property  in  these  virtues.  No— I  know  that 
we  have  poets— poets  full  of  the  fire  and  siibUmity  of 
genius— poets,  whose  harps  shall  yet  be  heard,  hke  that 
of  Ariel  in  the  pauses  of  the  storm:— poets  whose  trum- 
pets and  steeds  will  be  louder  than  the  uproar  of  the 
elements.  We  have  had  battles  worthy  of  such  bards 
—and  we  shall  have  bards  worthy  of 'our  battles.  The 
genii  of  painting  and  poetiy  always  appear— and  al- 
ways  vanish,  together.  Our  painters  are  already  bright- 
ening to  the  touch  of  inspiration— and  the  treasuries  of 
American  poesy  have  been  discovered,  and  will  yet 
prove  boundless  snd  inexhaustible  as  our  mines. 


^ 


M}' 


■'-!*' 


•^amr'^    '  r 


h 


XXIV  /. 

\ 
But  all  thi,  may  be  an  ill„sion-r  may  „eiU,er  know 
nor  understand  Doetrv  A„jti,  i,  ,  ^"'^'""'"i'. 
fhint  """Po^T-  And  though  ethers,  who  do  not 
th".k  as  I  do.  may  l«,k  to  my  awakenh,g  from  such 
opm,ons,  aa  from  a  1„„^  trancei  yet  I  hate  thT  Tme 

-"t^^V^nte'^l^o^T^^"' '"-'''■- -^^^^ 
tl.erefore   dM  r  "^  ""'  '"""«■    And 

dream    !'h  "'"  """'  ""=  termination  of  the 

tmd,  I  must,  from  necessity,  Winu.  to  judge  by  ruch 

r  "  "•""  ■'"'^"^  -"^-"X  ministers  'sl 
««  n,yop.mons-a„d  they  are  almost  reUpous-Tn 
scentiDus,  they  certainly  are-  and  .h,.-.f  '•K'«<^~<^- 
to  act  in  conformity  to  th^  "  *  f  '""*«"'' 
t^di*  the  plainest  maxim::;  thZTld  11 T'  r 
delusion-it  may.  Ifeelitis^^l^ut  wh^'ar 
ken  from  it~it  will  be  under  f  h.  ^' 

hear   an^  „  7  7  ^  expectation  that  all  I 

Pat,ence  reader,  blessed  are  the  patient,  you  k„o„ 
I  have  now  come  to  the  history  of  this  Jem    7 
»musmg.    I  shall  relate  it,  because  it  mav  b.,     / 

.he  fascmafon,  of  Po.s,,  with  as  much  composi  ^"^ 

d       th,s  momert!   She  has  her  enchantment,  thryl 

ubtle  and  dange^us.    But  for  certain  rules  whTch 

adopted   at  the  first  initiation  into  her  mysterils   and 

«^h.ch  ,  have  adhered  to,  inflexibly  and  con'sLnrfrm 

"""  *"■"•  ■"'"=»<•  »f  "-""ff  enabled,  as  I  now  l>r,,Z 


'^mJ' 


./^gti|jj||yiglig|y|il^^^^ 


XXV 

lltrow  off  her  trapping's,  and  bid  defiance  to  her  witche- 
ries, I  should  be  one  of  the  veriest  of  her  slaves.  Do 
ye  so  likewise— make  poetry — whatever  be  your  talent 
—whatever  be  your  powers— whatever  be  your  fond- 
ness for  it— make  poetry  subordinate  to  your  plans  of 
life,  as  you  would  make  pleasure  subordinate  to  duty: 
Otherwise— when  too  late— you  will  crown  yourself, 
like  Lear,  with  withered  flowerets— and  ragged  thorns 
—hug  the  ruin  that  is  embracing  you— and  walk— the 
mere  maniac— a  monarch  perhaps,  in  your  own  domi- 
nions—but a  mere  maniac  among  the  men  of  this 
world. 

About  three  years  ago,  Mr.  Pierpont,  the  gentle- 
man to  whom  this  is  dedicated,  a  man,  to  whom  I  am 
indebted,  not  only  for  all  the  reason  there  is  in  my 
rhyme,  but  for  all  tlie  reason  there  is  in  me,  I  believe, 
was  conversing  with  me  about  the  battle  of  Bridge- 
water.  He  thought  it  a  fine  subject  for  a  poem.  So 
did  I— but  then,  I  had  no  more  idea  of  writing  a  poem, 
thAn  I  have  now,  of  revolutionizing  China.  1  had  ne- 
ver written  any  thing — prose  or  poetry— for  the  pub- 
iick:  and  had  notliing  to  boast  of,  but  a  natural,  sprightly 
manner  of  writing  letters;  a  manner,  which  I  caught 
by  reading  every  thing  that  came  in  my  way— very  ra- 
pidly—and with  very  little  reflection. 

Some  ti  ne  after  this— I  betrayed  to  him— and  he 
never  will  forget  how  I  trembled  when  I  did  it— it  was 
like  a  school  boy  in  his  first-  exercise — some  brief  poe- 
tical "trifles,"  as  poets  call  their  most  laborious  at- 
tempts.  The  consequence  was— a  recommendation  to 
attempt  this  battle  for  a  poem.  I  was  flattered— yet 
B  2 


(! 


m 


■  ms'm'imem'f-ws^ 


-«*pir'- 


w 


xzvi 

even  then,  regarded  it  as  a  compliment;  not  an  un- 
meaning one,  for  he  is  never  guilty  of  such  things-but 

as  the  consequence    of  over-excitement-enthusiasm 

— and  deep  interest. 

Not  long  afterwards-we  were  sitting  together  in 
his  study,  and  he  was  reading  a  sermon  of  the  accom- 
phshed  and  amiable  Dr.  Buckminster.    He  had  invited 
me  for  the  purpose,  he  said,  and  dwelt  particularly 
upon  his  account  of  the  destruction  of  Goldau-and 
finally  advised  me  to  try  my  hand  at  that.    By  the  way 
-it  may  be  well  enough  to  observe  that,  between  these 
events,  I  had  written  most  of  the  small  pieces  which 
Will  be  found  in  this  volume.    I  was  pleased  with  the 
subjeefl-it  seemed  giant-hke  and  tumultuous-one 
that  would  require  no/,^^-and  very  httle  catastrophe, 
-tor  to  such  tilings  I  have  a  mortal  aversion.    I  should 
as  soon  look  for  a  plot  in  a  song,  as  in  a  descriptive 
poem.    The  very  next  day  after  this,  I  undertook  the 
business;  and  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  wrote,  as 
near  as  [  can  recoUect,  about  two  hundred,  or  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  Unes.    They  are  still  to  be  seen-being 
all  except  the  eight  syllable  lines-and  a  portion  of 
them. 

Subsequently  to  this-or,  after  the  manner  of  ano- 
ther* of  Apollo's  worshippers,  (who  has  been  as  pre- 
cise  m  keeping  a  calendar  of  his  poetical  attacks,  and 
mtermissions-fevers  and  agues-cold  and  hot  fits,  as 
was  Robinson  Crusoe,  in  registering  his  almanack  upon 
a  stick)-.to  be  more  particular;-on  tlie  17th  of  June, 

*  Coleridge. 


XXVll 


1817,  I  heard  that  a  friend  of  mine  was  going  to  Eng- 
land.   I  was,  at  that  very  moment,  publishing  a  book 
here— and  it  struck  me,  that  if  I  could  manage  to  pub- 
lish another  there,  I  should  have  two  chances,  ftistead 
of  one,  of  escaping  what  the  criticks,  very  properly, 
call  ^'damnation."    So— though  I  had  not  thought  of  the 
battle  of  Bridgewater  for  months— and  my  friend  was 
expected  to  sail  every  day,  I  sat  myself  down  to  the 
job.    By  noon  of  the  twentieth,  having  employed  three 
days  upon  it,  I  had  WTitten,  over  and  over  agsun,  enough 
to  count,  reckoning  broken-backed  ones  and  all,  near- 
ly eight  hundred  lines.    I  then  had  a  short  reprieve — 
the  vessel  would  not  go  for  three  days— or  rather,  my 
friend  would  not  arrive  for  three  days.    So— I  under- 
took to  revise  it.    On  the  twenty-third,  at  noon,  having 
employed  six  days  upon  the  whole  business,  the  Battle 
of  Niagara  was  completed,  scorijig  eight  hundred  and 
fifty-four  lines,  superficial  measure;  two  copies  were  ta- 
ken of  it — Goldau  was  thrown  into  another  shape,  aug- 
mented to  about  four  hundred  and  fifty  lines;  and  a  large 
number  of  small  poems  were  copied  from  manuscript* 
and  revised  for  the  London  press.  In  that  state,  the  book 
went  to  London.  My  friend  was  authorized  to  sell  it — if  he 
could.    He  could  not  sell  it— one  of  the  trade  offered  to 
print  it,  and  I  suppose  he  would  have  printed  any  thing 
else  on  the  same  t^rms — could  he  have  a  guarantee 
against  loss.  That,  of  course,  was  not  acceded  to.    Some 
criticks  saw  it  there,  and  spoke  warmly  of  it,  but  recom- 
mended, very  judiciously,  a  revision. 

The  poem  was  brought  back;  and  thrown  aside  for 
sometime.    When  I  had  nothing  else  to  do,  however, 
B  3 


)\ 


>    ':; 


XXV  lU 

,  sometimes  took  it  «p-in  the  winter  of  1817-18,  ai'tei' 
a  day  of  the  most  intense  and  horrible  application,  to  a 
work,  in  which  I  was  then  engaged,  (compared  to  which' 
learning  to  read  with  your  eyes  shut,  or  harnessing  fleas 
to  invisible  chariots,  would  have  been  past.me)-and 
added  some  few  Unes  here  and  theie.    Of  those  first 
written,  about  four  hundred  I  imagine,  on  looking  them 
over,  are  still  preserved;  but  without  the  same  relaUon 
to  each  other.    This  rapidity  of  execution,  must,  what- 
ever  may  be  said  by  criticks,  must  and  will  plead  strong- 
ly-not  for  indulgence,  I  despise  that-hyxt  for  justice. 
It  is  no  merit  in  me  to  compose  rapidly;  I  claim  no 
praise  for  it.    I  wish  I  could  move  more  slowly,  less 
capriciously,  but  I  cdnnot.    Had  I  a  dozen  hands,  I 
could  keep  them  all  employed,  when  I  am  writing  po- 
etry  I  know  such  things  only  expose  me  to  the  reiter- 
ated charge  of  vanity,  and  perhaps  foUy-but  I  cannot 
help  saying  that,  when  fairly  absorbed  in  the  contem- 
plation of  a  subject,  my  whole  soul  is  in  a  tumult;  I  teel 
myself  shut  out  from  the  world,  a  strange  kindUng 
comes  over  me-a  kind  of  mental  exhilaration:  a  "drun- 
kenness  of  heart»-that  I  cannot  describe,  scarcely  wish 
to  experience  again,  but  hope  I  shall  never  lose  th6 
memory  of.-Such  visitations-but  no-I  must  leave  this 

subject. 

Among  some  facts  connected  with  the  history  of  this 
poem,  there  is  one  not  a  Uttle  ridiculous,  and  yet,  T  think 
not  without  example  since.  The  reader  will  observe 
that  I  begin  with  a  ten  syllable*  but  not  heroick  mea- 

♦  In  preparing  this  edition,  however,  I  have  altered 
nearly  the  whole  of  that  part. 


A,., 


...jR.^.  '-^^'i'iiYiiijji^j 


1817—18,  aftei' 
ipplication,  to  a 
pared  to  which' 
harnessing  fleas 
I  pastime)— and 
,  Of  those  first 
in  looking  them 
e  same  relation 
ion,  must,  what- 
ill  plead  strong- 
but  for  justice. 
)idly;  I  claim  no 
lore  slowly,  less 

dozen  hands,  I 
[  am  writing  po- 
me to  the  reiter- 
]y — but  I  cannot 

in  the  contem- 
n  a  tumult;  I  feel 
strange  kindling 
aration;  a  "drun- 
be,  scarcely  wish 
I  never  lose  th6 
-I  must  leave  this 

;he  history  of  this 
s,  and  yet,  I  think 
der  will  observe 
lot  heroick  mea- 

;r,  I  have  altered 


XXIX 

«ure;  «nd  that,  after  several  struggles,  1  get  fairly  from 
the  gallop  of  that,  into  the  majestick  jog  of  the  1  ero- 
ick     The  truth  is,  I  thought  I  was  writing  heroick  at 
first'  I  knew  twelve  syllables  were  not  heroick,  buti  did 
not  know  and  do  not  know  what  a  twelve-syllable  mea- 
sure  is     But  I  did  know  that  an  heroick  line  should 
have  ten  syllables.    I  knew  too.  that  if  two  be  taken 
from  twelve,  ten  is  left:    So,  I  clipped  all  my  twelve 
syllable  Unes,  as  I  thought,  into  very  pretty  heroick,  by 
cropping  off  two  syUables.    The  reader  may  smile  at 
this,  but  I'll  be  hanged  if  Tom  Moore  has'nt  done  the 
same  thing.    He  wrote  the  Veiled  Prophet,  not  by  ear, 
but  by  counting  his  fingers  and  thumbs,    l^ke  m.e,  he 
had  his  ear  tuned  to  the  fine,  quick   varied  harmome 
of  the  lyrical  measure.    How  else  shaU  we  account  ior 
the  "Slovenly  versification"  of  that  poem;*  coming  too, 
fromthemostdeUcious.andharmoniousweaverofverse, 

that  ever  trilled  a  guitar  under  a  rose  bush.    Count  he 
syllables;  every  line  is  perfect  in  number.    Read  the 
lines,  they  are  so  ragged,  that  eventhe  rich  flowing  har- 
mon;  of  the  poet's  tiiought  is  cramped  by  the  measure 
Tmuch  as  a  graceful  boy  would  be,  by  a  suit  of  armou^ 
buskins,  and  a  dagger.    And  this  is  what  one  would 
expect-Mr.  Moore  has  no  business  with  heroick  verse. 
He  is  unequalled  in  the  melodious  shiftings  of  his  fa- 
vorite  measure;  he  is  all  sweetness,  voluptuousness,  and 

.  X  hundred  lines  c^  be  fou^d  in  it^.^r a5 
'''"  f/thines  '^-47  stSmatiTks  the  plain  believers 
pS'-oi  ?his  "Expatiate   free-^'er  this  scene  of 


men. 


B  4 


I 


•    The 


XXX 


"■ere  he  fa  J  °*  ^^  Passion  but  ,^       """''•    «« 
"•"»e,  to.  !f "•  ''ke  that  from  I  ''  '""  "  «  a 

«'■""'  "o  »ot  ^ffi"";"  "^-'cfc  «  t  :^^  "y  -ciden. 

"""^^  Of  prose     ,       '^  '"  -""ng-  i.   , '      ''  "■^■" 
""«  ,  df°  '■    '  "•■"rte  it  rugged  i   '       "  ™  "^-y 

.      «""o  return     „,       .  ^  "'•="•  ^'"cw, 

""»  a  state  of  -'    .       "'«''"'  after  havi„ 

"■-  once  CoZt::"'^  «"p"'-.^  rr---'^ 
--w::t::i:-;;rc::-;- 

'"^'"""■•Had.soheme 


I 


t'H,-, 


i;MmiMmtimJti^  _ 


XXXI 


'»  "o  g-raiideuj- 
"ent,  when  he 
^  ^  Cupid  at. 
^'tog-ether  a 
aoiatist.    jje 
of  iove,  ,yet 
'»  but  it  is  a 
■  '"^^^  frankin- 
^  consumes 
'^ery  thing. 

want  of  Ja. 
^Onions  as 
^"d  prac. 
-  by  fives 

accident 
d  then  1 
'f^  many 
|lv-be- 
Pope, 
erving. 
a  /»&  s/^ 
''news 

lysejf 

rtork  t 

oem  / 

>ver  ■ 

les; 

nie  , 


)n  view  at  the  time,  which  mig-ht  place  me  in  a  situa- 
tion to  pursue  a  courge  of  severe  and  laborious  study,  to 
which  I  had  devoted  myself;  but  if  it  failed,  I  deter- 
piined  upon  this:  to  finish  Niagara  and  Goldau— com- 
mit them  to  memory —prepare  myself  for  the  purpose — 
go  t«  Philadelphia  (that  being  the  "Mhens  of  Ameri- 
pa")  assume  some  other  name,  to  hide  my  mortification 
if  1  was  discomfited— and  there  recite  it  publickly. 

Jt  was  a  wild  scheme,  I  grant,  and  though  carried 
Jnto  execution,  so  far  as  it  depended  upon  me,  yet  I 
will  venture  to  say  that,  till  within  a  few  days,  there 
were  not  three  persons  in  the  world,  who  knew  me  at 
fdl  in  the  business. 

I  did  all  this — I  was  disappointed  in  my  first  scheme; 
ha4  nothing  to  depend  upon,  to  keep  me  from  starving* 
except  I  chose  to  write  myself  to  death.  This  determin- 
ed me.  I  went  to  Philadelphia;  assumed  the  name  of 
George  E.  Fercival;  and  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  .suc- 
ppeded  in  procuring  a  room,  after  a  week  of  disappoint- 
nient  and  delay, during  which  I  found  but  two  men,  (and 
delicacy  alone  prevents  me  from  mentioning  their  names, 
pn  this  occasion,)  who  seemed  jus!ly  sensible  of  the  ele- 
vated rank  to  which  Philadelphia  is  entitled  in  the  repub- 
lick.  One  of  these  gentlemen  offered  me  his  influence  in 
obtaining  a  hall,  then,  and  now,  1  believe,  appropriated  to 
the  Lancasterian  school:  the  other  offered  me  a  very  large 
room  then  at  his  disposal.  I  felt  the  kindness  of  both, 
&nd  trust  in  heaven  that  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  to 
return  it.  At  length  however,  1  was  persuaded  to  hii^ 
Mr.  Renshaw's  room,  although  an  accident  had  recent^, 
ly  happened  at  the  Washington  Hall,  while  Mrs.  French 


""^v&sigms- 


•  •     '  xxxii 

that  a  fire.eat«»r  ho^  c**    i  ™oms,    and  I  knew 

po«  .00,  to  "overtowinjhot;"  X'^T  •"  """• 
why  I  could  not  get  a  plL  w»»  h.  t'        "''"°» 

«^en  up  by  rone  An.,  .     """  *'>■  »'*«  »" 

e'c.  «>c.th:.r;t.r;i:r,':„'""'  ""■""•  *"=• 

«on,bythe^,te„V.„,  '"'PP»«e,to»ufl-o... 

*e'core„^t  irhu?  """  '"^'^-"P  - 
tie  too  proud  for  thof    t        i  V  »  *  ^**  *  l^t- 

-uge  Ld  tulwe/ hoX  r.r  ?r."""""'''' 

bebon  n,v  hat.    It  won""  tak.  .  T^''"*'  "'*  ^■ 

unlcM  you  make  a  1  .'         "  S^"'le"»>>tome, 

j'ou  majce  a  show  with  the  hnio     ¥  j-j        . 
lieve  him— T  hn^  ♦  ,  *    '  ^^  '»ot  be- 

PMan.rLrj:trhr::."r'"r'- 

'to.    Well,  ladvertised  in  all    he  L^  '    °"' 

bool«elle«,-.went  toTv  ?  !.  ^   '^  -^'Pectable 

P«m!sed  that  the  rn'    t  ^T  ^''•''  "avinj  been 
-ted)-a„d;U'4ri*:;^^^,^;-o„ab.yiUun,l. 

-Pon   the  hed-.,5l  alteHn't"  l^h^T^T  r 
awoke  exactly  at  the  moment-hurried,  t^XlpZl 


•V^ 


XXXIU 

session  of  all  my  faculties,  I  verily  believe;  for  tliough 
{  wonder  now  how  I  could  have  had  the  assurance  to  ap- 
pear  before  a  Philadelphia  audience,  creatures  of  such 
refined  taste— such  exquisite  sentiment,  and  all  that— 
then  I  felt  about  as  easy,  (though  I  never  so  much  as 
"spoke  a  piece'*  in  publick,)  as  I  should  now  in  harangu- 
ing ray  own  g^ndmother:  And  so,  to  end  this  nar- 
rative, I  arrived  at  tlie  room — How  many  of  these  IL 
terati — these   Philadelpliiana— these  American  Athe- 

i 

nians,  think  you,  I  found  asserobledP — Not  one,  not 
one !  by  Julius  Caesar ! — not  one !  though  I  had  sent  a 
ticket  to  two  of  the  chief  criticks  in  the  city,  in  charity, 
and  two  otliers  to  the  gentlemen  above-mentioned,  ger- 
tlemen,  by  the  by,  whom  I  shall  never  mention  but 
with  respect,  though  they  wouli  not  come  to  hear  me 
spout,  free  of  expense.  The  truth  is,  it  is  too  ridicu- 
lous a  subject  for  my  composure.  Such  expectations 
as  I  had  formed!  I  even  advertised,  on  the  strength  of 
Mr.  Renshaw's  assurances  that  1  should  have  a  crowd- 
ed house;  tliat  he  could  sell  "nearly  a  hundred  tickets  in 
his  own  family;'*  that  the  room  could  accommodate  three 
hundred  persons— I  even  advertised,  heaven  forgive 
me!  that  "no  more  than  two  hundred  tickets  would  be  sold/" 
— and  faith!  I  believe  the  terms  of  agreement  were  reli- 
giously complied  with:  though  I  do  not^now,  for  the  very 
next  day,  I  left  Philadelphia;  have  not  been  there  since, 
and  never  mean  to  go,  if  there  be  any  way  on  earth 
to  get  round  it.*     From  that  day  to  this,  I  have  never 

*  Unless  it  be  to  pay  Mr.  Duane,  who  would  not  take 
Baltimore  money  for  advsrtising^  something  like  a 
dollar  that  I  owe  him. 


.%■; 


wrmiir 


xxxiv 

consider  this  .„  17  ^oo,!  enough,  tlierefore,  ,„ 

<Mno.cale„.a,co„havirfor  iT'"'"  '  ""''  ' 
than  ennnrf.  to  nav  tl,.  '^     -"i^A'/'-morc 

I  was  prevcnfPfl     n      .■'       ^"*'  thank   heaven! 

•  The  z:z.  °:v  ;z;  'rrr^ ' '-'  ""■'"'•'■ 

".e  I'hihdeiphian,  w  .r  h  f  V"""'"'  '■"""'^ 

-n.«.oh:u,,h::*„:;:tt;:,:^^^^^^^^ 

best  ealculated  for  recitation  \    .  ^^  1""^" 

-'«".« then,  for  th:  p^o'se  '  """"'^'''  "  """" 

T'lere  is  another  thine- too    fm.  i 
even  to  the  "^M.m««,  "1  k      ''''"^^  ^'^  J"^*''*^« 

-When  I  arrivec  irMr  ,       k  "^. '  ""'  '°  '^  "'"'^^^d' 
.1  """Shaw's— instead  nf  B„j- 

the  room  illuminated,  and  prepared  ,  ,  7°^,*'"'''"? 
darkness;  not  a  caudle  li„r  .^  f"^'  '  '  '»'""' "  ,n  total 
<uarkal,lyge„t  e,;^!'"""''  '"""=  ""'  »  ••""'-  re- 
".  -  /t-fs!  re  ,'  'lr;;.;r=''-''  --Sf"  about 
;"-P.bathusiness.„r~r^^^^^^ 

dycome  sir,  „rcklr   n        '"'""'""■"'''"-''<' bo. 

g'm-,  shaU  1  mt    t  to  ^     t'-^'  """  "  "^"^'"«" 

your  m.aster?  "Goue  ojt  ir "T  '"'"^  ''"^-    ^''"'-  '^ 

confess,  and  ,m  1  *""  ""^  ""^'-J''  '  ">"« 

am  not  sorry  now  that  his  master  had 


\/ 


XXXV 

"gone  out."  I  meant  to  have  seen  him  the  next  day, 
but  the  next  day  I  left  thfe  city,  I  hope  forever.  Since 
then,  I  have  thought  it  possible  that  among  so  many  ad- 
mirers of  wild  beasts,  philosophy,  conjurers,  etc. 
etc.  as  Philatlelphia  is  crowded  with,  some  persons 
might  have  been  disposed  to  see  Apoei-,  and  that,  each 
supposed  it  a  ytrt'r,  when  he  arrived  at  the  mansion 
house  and  saw  no  room  prepared.  Each,  therefore, 
kept  the  bite  a  secret,  and  never  acknowledged  what 
he  came  for.  But  honestly,  and  sincerely,  it  was  not 
a  quiz.  I  would  have  recited  my  poem  to  any  body  I 
could  have  caught,  had  I  been  compelled  to  hold  him 
by  the  button  during  the  operation. 

And  further,  though  Mr.  R.  is  certainly  very  much  to 
blame  for  not  lighting  the  room  as  he  had  contracted  to 
do,  yet  I  attribute  it  to  his  want  of  courage;  he  dared 
not  outface  publick  opinion.  He  was  familiar,  probably, 
with  the  cultivated  taste  of  his  fellow  citizens,  and  knew 
exactly  how  far  they  would  go  in  tolerating  exhibitions 
at  his  tavern.  Well!  I  forgive  him:  many  and  ma- 
ny a  time  since,  has  my  sides  ached  at  the  recollection 
of  the  catastrophe,  and  many  a  time  have  I  waked  my- 
self by  my  own  laughing.  AU  I  have  to  say  is,  that  the 
Philadelphians  are  a  very  polished  and  refined,  high- 
minded,  elegant,  publick  spirited,  rational  sort  of  people: 
and  much  good  may  their  fire-eaters  and  mountebanks 
do  them.  And,  brother  poets,  if  you  have  a  mind  "to 
pick  up  a  penny"  in  the  way  of  your  profession;  hea- 
ven help  you!  you  had  better  turn  taylors  or  shoema-  * 
kers,  and  do  your  own  mending  at  least;  shun  the  Ame- 
rican Athens,  as  you  would  shun  a  poor-house,  or  else 


I 

'V, 


If 


KXVi 

rt^/°'"!f '"' "''  •  '^«<l-''-«'.e.«e  your  own 
Ayme.  .„  the  „«rket.  or  ride  l,.ckw«^  to  L  «Zd 

^.Sant.y.pp.^to^U^^I^n^^^"-'- 
whUeaboyw«w»iti,^f„r  ,hcZ,f  T"'"'"'^ 

of  Jllr"^'  "'"''  """^S  '"  *«  ««ived  practice 

would  be  quite  a^agreeabl    to  „e  for  a'fl  7  ""^ 
suredttat,  aH things  con«de«d;  Cf hX  .? „" 

•^riU    .thirLfL'rel'ra""""''"""- 
have  observed  fh«        •  ^^'^^^^  none-^ne 

son-es  to  be  read-  .„  j  „  P"™  "" '«  de. 

read.  «,d  one,  a  Boston  man,  has  plumed 


^Wl!^'**#i"i(ji 


Ith 


xxxvu 

himself  prodigiously  in  criticising  a  printer's  blunder; 
«li|fht  of  musick,"  for  "light  and  musick." 

The  Analectic,  and  the  Port  Folio,  for  reasons  best 
known  to  themselves,  have  carefully  avoided  mention- 
ing the  work  at  all.  The  former,  perhaps,  on  account 
of  a  very  foolish  and  very  extravagant  thing,  (though, 
by  the  way,  it  has  a,  good  deal  of  force  in  it)  that  I  scrib- 
bled some  time  ago,  and  miviswss  myself,  in  the  pre- 
face, after  the  manner  of  those  exceedingly  learned, 
and  exceedingly  incomprehensible  gentlemen,  who  ma- 
nage that  work.  And  the  latter,  has  not,  I  take  it,  be- 
cause, something  like  twelve  months  ago,  it  announced, 
in  a  very  mysterious  manner,  one  of  the  most  whimsical 
and  ludicrous  purposes  that  ever  characterized  a  critical 
journal.  It  was  this—on  the  cover,  written  Uke  an  in- 
cantation, for  none  but  the  initiated  could  understand 
it,  appeared  a  notice  to  authors,  saying,  that  if  they 
wished  their  works  to  be  taken  notice  of,  they  must 
send  the  editor  ««the  price  of  a  year's  subscription;" 
that  is,  in  plain  English,  a  five  dollar  note  to  pay  for  a 
review!  Cheap  enough!  In  Edinburgh  and  London 
they  are  not  so  modest.  If  you  want  a  work  damned  or 
pnused  there,  you  must  oiabidsihost  of  competitors.  This 
angular  proposition  is  worth  our  notice:  Did  the  edi- 
tor mean,  that,  for  Jive  dollars  he  would  speak  yax^tfura- 
bly  of  eVerj' thing;  if  so,  I  am  ashamed  of  his  principles, 
and  blush  to  see  him  the  conductor  of  so  able  an  Ame. 
rican  paper;  if  not,  if  only  when  a  work  deserved  it,  he 
meant  to  abuse  it,  he  must  take  us  authors  to  be  great 
jackasses,  (to  say  nothing  of  hi»  conscience  in  doing  it,) 
to  ^zyjive  dollars  for  being  abused.    The  plain  fact  is. 


V 


xxxviii  ,' 

t 

probably,  that  for  Jtve  Oollars,  the  editor  of  the  Port 
Foho  would  undertake  to  insert  any  thingtliat  was  sent 
him,  though  he  might  not  write  it  himself. 

So,  not  thinking  his  opinion  worth  a  five  dollar  note 
thoughl  were  sure  of  having  it-all  that  an  author  could 
wish,  I  did  not  send  liim  the  price  of  a  review,  and  of 
course,  he  did  not  review  it.    On  the  subject  of  poetry 
I  wouldn't  give  a  fig  for  his  opinion.     He  is  a  good 
lawyer;  his  Law  Journal  is  an  invaluable  book;  the  chief 
departments  of  his  Port  Folio  are  ably  conducted;  but 
the   question  of,  poetry  or  no  poetry?   he  is  misera- 
bly incompetent  to  determine.    On  other  subjects   I 
do  respect  his  opinion,  and  should  advise  him  to  cut 
bellqs-Iettres:  it  is  scarcely  worth  any  man's  while  to 
be  distinguished  in  lighter  literature,  and  he  had  bet- 
ter be  content  with  the  reputation  he  has.    By  reach- 
mg  at  the  shadow,  like  the  editor  in  the  fable,  he  may 
'   lose  the  substance.     For  example,  I  would  ask  him  to 
turn  back  to  one  of  his  old  numbers,  say  nearly  two 
years  ago,  and  look  at  a  long  catalogue  of  rhymes,  un- 
der a  "notice  to  correspondents."    They  are,  in  truth 
abominably  flat,  and  so  evidently  ^./ „;,  for  ^the  occa! 
won,  that  the  most  stupid  would  discover  the  trick     It 
is  certain,  that  he  hunted  uj^  the  poetical  quotations;  and 
then  accommodated  his  prose  to  it,  in  proportion  as  the 
chance  of  making  prose  is  to  the  chance  of  remem 
benng  apt  poetry,  at  any  time.    It  was.  ,to  speak  plain, 
ly,  a  very  foolish  way  of  saying  very  foolish  things. 
'        I'here  is  an  editor  in  New  York  also,  to  whom  I 
have  a  word  or  two  to  say.    The  reason  why  he  has  not 
reviewed  Magaraj  I  take  it,  is,  because  he  was  afraid. 


'W> 


xxxix 

felt  his  incapacity,  or  was  too  lazy.    And  yet,  these  are 
the  guardians  of  AmcricEln  literature,  the  high  priests 
of  our  national  temple!    Their  papers  are  continually 
crowded  with  foreign  trash,  and  extracts  from  foreign 
reviews,  as  if  we  had  no  opinions  of  our  own,  or  were 
incapable  of  expressing  them  in  our  own  language.    To 
import  our  literature— and  such  literature  too!— it  is 
enough  to  kindle  the  indignation  of  the  veriest  wretch 
in  America.    Are  we  so  abject,  so  contemptible.''  must 
we  import  our  opinions?  and  this  too,  while  the  Ame- 
rican press  is  teeming  with  native  productions,  upon 
which  the  pall  of  oblivion  is  immediately  spread,  by  the 
very  hands  that  should  be  foremost  in  the  support  and 
vindication  of  American  character.     Of  what  conse- 
quence to  us,  comparatively  speaking,  is  the  reputation 
of  cotcmporary  British  writers.   Our  fame  must  depend 
not  upon  reading,  but  upon  ivriting.    It  is  your  duty, 
gentlemen  editors,  your  duty  to  your  subscribers;  you 
^re  pledged  to  it,  as  American  journalists,  to  take  some 
notice  of  every  American  publication  that  appears.     If 
it  deserve  condemnation,  condemn  it— tear  it  piece- 
meal, -  give  a  loose  to  your  indignation  like  men,  like 
Americans.  If,  on  the  contruiy,  it  have  any  merit,  say  so: 
speak  boldly— speak  as  if  you  have  conlidence  in  your 
own  opinion.  Don't  talk  aboutthe  subject,  talk  a/  it.  Speak 
to  the  point.    That  is  your  duty.    Do  you  know  this? 
If  you  would  see  the  literature  of  your  country  take 
a  stand  worthy  of  her  reputation— t/o?*  must  -watch  it-— 
encourage  it— pray  for  it.    You  are  not  asked  to  praise 
it,  no,  li*;— there  is  Uttle,  at  present,    that  deserves 
pvaHse—bia  take  notice  of  it.    That  you  can  do.    The 


i 


ll 


J^l 


p-eatest  genmsthat  ever  blazed,  would  go  „ut  i„  hw 
own  dark„e«.  if  he  »«..  „„  ,„,^  ,„.„  J  "J^» 

take  me:  I  »peak  for  other,,  not  f„,  ^yj^f^  "^ 

And  now  reader,  to  give  you  an  evidence  of  the 
manner  .n  wh.ch  our  publiek  journals  are  conducted,  I 
w^ll  tell  you  something  of  this  New  Vork  editor 
When  ,  published  "Keep  C«,l..  _a  thing  that  iT  „« 
even  yet  ashamed  of,  there  are  parts  of'whieh  .Tever 
h,nk  without  blushing,  and  there  are  others,  of  wUc" 
shad  be  proud,  while  I  am  able  to  feel  emotion,  or 
o  excite  ,t  m  others,  but  J  was  a  boy  then,  and  I  wmL 
too  hasuly,  that  must  be  my  apology  for  i.Lwe  1^1 
when  ,  w^te  „„  c.o^  the  LtoTs  „f  the  Ke  "  York 
Mag^ine,  then  just  established,  wrote  a  villanous  UtUe 
article  .pon  it_in  which,  after  making  two  or  three 
very  severe,  yet  very  just  observations-they  aoknow 
edged  that  they  had  not  ..ad  it!-aye  ..aderf  ^;  Zi 
"run  over  about  eighty  pages"-whieh  eighty  pa«? 
as      hadn't  got  fairly  a  going,  ,  have  always  thoughl 
contained  the  greatest  trash  in  the  book.    To  atone  t 
thisaff^ntto  thepublick,  after  having  had  th  71? 
dence  to  pro^nince  an  opinion,  on  a  work  that  tL;  hM 
never  read-they  promised  "if  they  thought  it  woh^ 
their  notice-to  renew  the  subject  " 

The  moment  I  saw  the  paragraph.  I  wrote  Uiem  a 
ha^^^t'tb       ■"'        "■'•"  "'■S'^' P-Wish  it     But  they 

-tt.  b:r"^'-  ^"''""'"'  '  *-»  -y  they  would 
-but  1  had  so  managed  it.  that  they  couldn't  expose  me 

without  exposing  themselves,  for,  took  the  Bb" rty  .o 
point  out  some  most  ridiculous  blunders  in  tlielC 
work-and  to  request, them,  „««  ,^,,  ^^~l 


xli 


no  favour— 1  scom'favours — I  wouldn't  raise  my  hand  to 
change  the  opinion  of  the  world  on  such  subjects — L 
bade  them  do  their  duty  to  the  publick.     They  were  not 
the  men  to  do  it — they  neither  acknowledged  their  er- 
rors, nor  atoned  for  them. 

Since  then,  when  Niagara  was  published,  I  looked 
for  some  of  their  magnanimity.     I  was  disappointed.    A 
friend  of  mine,  some  time  afterwards,  told  me  that  he 
liad  been  directed  to  deliver  a  message,  from  the  gentle- 
man to  whom  I  have  dedicated  this  volume — to   the 
surviving  editor  of  that  Magazine.    Fearful  of  the  in- 
terferenpe  of  a  friend,  so  warm,  so  ent^usiastick  a  friend 
—on  such  a  subject,  and  anxious,  if  I  was  reviewed,  to 
be   reviewed   fiurly,  without   influence — I  was   fool 
enough  to  write  again  to  the  editor,  with  the  hope  of 
counteracting  that  influence.    And  that  is  the  last  I 
have  heard  of  it.    Now,  the  fact  is,  that  alf  these  gen. 
tlemen  together,  cannot  stamp  a  character  of  insignifl- 
cance  upon  these  poems.    They  may  be  as  silent  as 
they  please — every  man  that  reads  them  will  say  that 
tliey  are,  at  least,  worth  cursing.    But  most  of  them 
have  the  good  will,  tho'  riot  the  ability  to  damn  them  ef- 
fectually—the others,  with  more  ability  -  have  less  cour- 
age.   They  are  afraid  to  do  injustice,  because  their  own 
reputation  would  be  involved — and  they  have  not  t^e 
magnanimity  to  do  justice. 

All  these  men,  therefore,  say  I— and  I  hold  myself 
responsible  for  the  consequences— the  editors  of  the 
Analectic,  Port  Folio,  and  New  York  Magazines,  have 
violated  their  obligations  to  the  American  publick- 
Ttje    ««^North  .American  Review"  has  not— though  it 


i 


T 


»T;.-sW!!Cjmii*pili !«"<■'*- 


xlii 

has  treated  me  severely.    It  has  done  its  duty—so  tar 

as  it  could  do  it. 

I  shall  soon  be  done,  now,  I  hope;  though  I  have  al-* 
ready  made  tliis  three  times  as  long  as  I  intended  at 
first;  and  cannot,  therefore,  speak  very  certainly  upon 
the  prospect. 

Before  I  talk  of  the  opinion  manifested  by  c  hr  v  , 
and  most  of  them  are  poets-,''  some  strangers,  total  a     i. 
gers  to  me;  I  shall  take  the  hberty  to  say  what  my  own 
ifl.    I  care  not  what  others  may  think  of  such  a  proceed- 
ing; I  am  accustomed  to  express  my  sentiments,  firm. 
ly,  on  all  subjects  with  which  I  am  acquainted;  (and  I 
«et;e»'  found  those  sentiments  treated  with  disrespect,) 
and  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  be  excluded  from 
speaking  on  that  subject  with  which  I  am  best  acquainted 
—as  confidently,  and  as  freely.     I  shall  not  be  very  par- 
ticular, for  really,  i  am  not  quite  barefaced  enough  for 
that;   but  this  I  say—these  poems  are  full  of  faults, 
great  faults;  obscurity,  extravagance,  and  entanglement 
of  metaphor  and  imagery,  heaps  upon  heaps;  and  yet, 
there  are  pages  that  I  never  saw  excelled;  never  wish 
to  excel— and  never  hope  to  reach  again  in  this  world. 
These  passages;  except  by  one  man,"  and  he  is  entitled 
to  the  first  rank  among  the  writers  oiintelligible  poetry, 
the  beautiful,  and  the  chaste,  have  been  generally  con- 
demned, as  cloudy  and  vague;  sometimes  oppressive 
and  magnificent,  bat  indistinct,  not  touchable,  not  tangi- 
hie.    Yet  other  i)assage3,  and  some  that  have  been  ex- 

•  Not  poets,  because  they  have  spoken  highly  of 
Niagara,  but  because  they  were  poets,  they  have  spoken 
highlj-  of  it.  ^  '  r       ^ 


xliii 

ceedingly  admired,  upon  my  soul,  I  would  strike  out 
of  this  edition,  were  I  not  unwilling  to  insult  some 
of  my  best  friends.  To  me,  they  are  insufferably 
tame,  cold-motionless,  and  passionless;-mere  rhym, 
ing  advertisements. 

Several  persons,  as  I  have  said  before,  have  review- 
ed  the  first  edition;  and  really,  I  have  a  mind  to  review 
Ihem  in  return.  It  is  the  only  way  to  keep  these  on- 
ticks  straight.  Their  heads  will  be  turned  else,  by 
their  elevation.  They,  of  all  scribblers,  are  the  only 
ones  beyond  the  reach  of  criticism:  and  that  gives  them 
an  appearance  of  self-complacency,  which  is  infinitely 
amusing  to  one  who  has  the  patience  to  read  their  spe- 

culations. 

The  first  review  that  1  saw,  was  written  by  a  total 
stranger  to  me.  I  am  assured  however,  that  he  was  a 
poet.  And  his  style  of  composition  justifies  the  behef. 
It  appeared  in  the  Boston  Centinel-and  is  not  only  the 
ablest,  but  the  best  criticism,  the  most  faithful  criti- 
cism,  that  I  have  yet  seen  on  Niagara.  It  is  eloquent, 
warm,  and  discriminating.  U  has  been  attributed  to 
Mr.Pierpont.  It  was  not  his.  Mr.  Pierpont  has  never 
written  any  thing  on  the  subject,  for  the  pubhck. 

To  this  succeeded  a  fine  article  in  the  Journal  of  the 
Times,  written  by  the  editor.'  He  too-is  a  poet-a 
bea^itiful  poet.  A  feeling  of  friendship  probably  led 
him  into  the  business-and  we  can  discover,  though  the 
criticism  be  very  just,  and  sometimes  very  favourable - 
that  tlie  writer  did  not  feel  that  freedom,  which  gene- 


} 


•  Paul  Allen. 


C  2 


h'^L 


m 

'I'M 


« 


Wffr 


<t 


)div 

«%wa™».„de„richeshi.  Writing.  I  understood  it- 
there  v,„  the  struggle  of  partiaUty  and  opinion;  where 
he  eensured.  and  where  he  praised,  he  JL  .;„ „:'  " 
'"  t"  '•"  "'"'•  "'  'poke  the  truth-but  not  the 
whole  truth.  Had  I  been  a  sUanger  to  hin,.  he  w.,Ud 
have  wntten  bette,-;  and  the  poem  would  have  been 
more  censured,  and  more  applauded-than  it  w.. 
1  m  I  know.  ,t  is  the  consequenee  of  a  frank,  heany' 
d  spos.Uon.      Such  men,  distrusting  the  influlnceTf 

"„'"■  ""r":-'  "'°"  '"  ''"""'  Pen^endicuirand 

izL";  ;zx." '^"'"''- '""'^'' -'^'"' '^ 

Soon  after  tWs,  appeared  a  most  ertraordinary  sort 
of  a  metaphysical  notice  of  it,  in  the  -North  American 
Hev,ew."    It  was  able,  and  I  dare  say  honest-but  very 

voT  ;..  r '""°'  '"'""=  "''•^"^  ™«™  "yone  of 
our  ,<.uu„k,  p,^,.  ^„^  ^^^  ^^^ 

.pectades,  and  gi^asp  a  g^aging  rod,  or  six  inch  rule. 

whether  he  were  to  measure  the  altitude  of  Cleopa 
^'s  needle,  or  the  dimensions  of  a  madrigal,  u  was 
hones,,,  hope,  because  the  man  certainly  sfys  what  he 
thmks;  he  was  undoubtedly  bewildered,  completely  be- 
wJdered,  m  reading  the  poem,  found  it  incapabL  of 
«ny  class,hcat,on;  and,  as  it  resembled  none  of  the 

choo-boy  standards,  he  of  course,  took  it  for  granted 
that  .t  was-what-for  his  soul,  he  couldn't  tell,  and 
wouldn't  undertake  to  say  posiUvely.  Such  is  *e 
0  aracterof  his  review.    Hemay  be  asensibi       lit' 

*  woum,  say -any  thing  more  severe*    I 
*  But  let  me  give  an  example.   «'This,»  says  the  cri- 


xlv 

would  defy  any  man  on  earth,  to  understand  what  he 
13  drivinjj  at,  or  what  his  opinion  of  the  poem  is.     He 

tick,  "is  too  much  in  Leigh  Hunt's  cliildish  way,  where 
he  says, 
••There  is  something  at  work  in  the  moon-shiny  air." 
And  that  he  calls  chtl(Ji.ih.—thzt\  why  Shakspcare 
himself,  never  touched  out  a  more  exquisite  insinua. 
tion  of  magick — in  the  happiest  moment  of  his  poesy, 
when  Ariel  was  at  her  most  delicious  spivitings.  But 
see  how  he  applies  it — these  are  the  lines  which  he 
9uys  are  alter  Leigh  Hunt's  childish  manner: — 

'  "liUnd  of  white  bosoms— and  bHie  laughing  eyes, 

"Like  min'ature  pictures  of  transparent  skies, 
"Where  young  dioughts  hke  the  blessed  are  seen." 

And  this,  comparing  the  passage  of  thin  vapours 
over  a  motionless  water: — 
"They  pass  hke  thoughts  o'er  a  clear  blue  eye." 

And  these,  he  sa^s,  are  childish!— I  pray  heaven,  if 
they  be,  that  I  may  never  be  cursed  with  maturity   But 
I  have  another  authority  against  him-  besides  my  own 
opinion,  and  positively,  those  three  first  lines,  I  once 
determined  to  adopt  for  a  motto  to  my  title  page: — 
such  was  my  opinion  of  them.     The  author  of  the  re- 
view, which  appeared  in  the  Boston  Centinel— told  a 
person,  who  told  me — that  he  would  give  a  joint  of  his 
little  finger  to  have  written  those  very  lines! — They 
must  be  very  childiah  indeed — for  he  is  a  poet.     For  my- 
self, I  think  them  very  pretty    perfectly  pretty — but 
nothing  more; — there  is  nothing ^rm^  in  them.     In  one 
word,  this  man  is  about  as  well  qualified  to  review  po- 
etry, as  I  should  be  to  review  a  Hebrew  grammar,  a 
work  in  anatomy,  or  mathematicks;— that  is— utterly  in- 
competent.     Any  body  may  feel  heat  and  movement 
in  a  poei|i — but  a  poet  only  can  measure  tlie  latitude 
and  loHgitude  of  a  poet's  conceptions.     It  is  a  pity  that 
people — criticks — would  not  confine  themselves  to  what 
they  understand.    And  it  is  quite  as  preposterous  for  a 

C  3 


1 


■^r^M^ 


xivi 

is  w.iver,„g-i,„[e(cr,ni,ate-a„d  contradicloiy  •    Yd 
to  give  the-  tr,.„ilc,na,>  hi,  ,luo,  there  are  some  rery  indi 
C.OUS,  though  „„t  very  pulMubl..  remarks;  one  witty  one.' 
.n  recollect  nght;  two  or  three  wretched  miscarriages, 

pid-iwagK^riircCfl'Lt  ;i!Vuri'  i  "St'"'"- 
where  aiit'els  fear  to  tread."  ™'''   "}- 

Say:  tSi'ck,  ^rC  11U"S  „V"  r^"'^  "-■• 
perciliousness,  which  distinS  1  ,  ^'«P^"8- ^u- 
solutely  certain  whaMS'S^;^,^:  ^^.V,"?'"  • 

-whether  in  the  ear  or  faZlXv  \  -^  "'  ""'  °''  ^«'•^^— 
is  that  true?    1fhr{      •  '      ^'^^  ""^ ''"^i'  ^^  deten^xiner  ah' 

a  "smging  noddle."  But  he  nroceel  ..T;  "*  *'* 
fi<- praise,"  (no!  I'll  be  bSu  wtnV  b^^l'"'"'' "''■°"' 
to  understand  itO-<<»,,/»7„',„rf,?,i  '"",'"';>""'<'  ""= 

l"fu;r«j'tS^fx'-^i^'p™^»^ 


1 


in  other  accouchments;  and  some  observations,  so  pre 
foimdly  erudite  and  metaphysical,  that,  from  that  hour  to 
this,  I  have  been  unable  to  determine  whetlier  he  was 
writing  a  review  of  a  poem;  whether,  by  some  acci- 
dent, the  title  had  not  been  misplaced;  or  whether  he 
was.  what  the  vulgar  caU  "poking  fun"  at  reviewers, 
j^nd  I  am  not  alone  in  this;  others  are  equally  bother- 
ed to  this  hour. 

Now,  reader,  this  is  the  most  severe  of  all  the  criti- 
cisms;  yet  among  its  observations  are  to  be  ranked 
some  of  the  most  discriminating  censurfes  that  have  yet 
appeared!     And  though  the  writer  is  so  puzzled  that, 
after  raUing  through  several  pages,  and  "damnir  g  with 
faint  praise,"  some  other  things  that  he  could  not  un- 
derstand,  (and  meaning  no  oflence;  if  he  had  understood 
them  1  should  certainly  have  left  them  out  of  this  edi- 
tion)  he  winds  up  with  telliilgme  to  persevere;  that  the 
way  to  be  permanently  in  favour  with  the  publick,  is  not 
to  humour  them,  &c.  8cc.-Yet  reader,  after  all,  I  reaVij 
Hke  his  revie-w.    It  has  beei\  of  use  to  me.    I  couUl  have 
had  in  that  very  work  too,  1  have  every  reason  to  believe, 
a  review,  beyond  all  comparison  more  flattering  to  me, 
than  any  1  have  yet  had.    I  coidd  have  had  it  written  by 
a  ^,oe^_afriend-and  the  most  cnthusiastick  admirer  of 
Niagara— but  that  friend  (and  I  allude  to  the  ge.iueman 
to  whom  I  have  dedicated  this)  had  too  much  delicacy 
to  obtrude  an  ofler,  of  what  the  world  might  think  a 
puff-upon  me:  and  I  had  too  much  respect  for  him, 
and  for  myself,  to  request  it.    Yet,  1  kno-w  that  he  would 
have  done  it  at  the  slightest  hint.    Nor  is  this  all- 
others  have  offered  to  puff  me,  good  writers  too;  but  I 
C  1 


xlvili 

have  chher  refused  directly,  or  discouraged  them  by 
my  coldness;-aIways  saying  no;  let  strangers  judge  of 
hie,  and  my  poem.  I  ask  /,.*^,te-.and  justice  I  will 
nave. 

To  this  succeeded,  a  second  revieu .  a«  it  was  called, 
by  the  editor  of  the  Journal  of  the  Times,  purporting 
to  be  a  reply  to  the  North  American-one  of  the  most 
beauuful  artxcles  that  ever  can.e  from  the  pen  of  n.un-. 
but  havmg  very  little  to  do  with  the  subjecf-it  was  a 

comphmen/a^partas    S  but'^^^^^^^^^        ''  '''''^''  ^"« 
agara  is  fatiguing,  is  a  Z'ano      h    •    ""  ^'''^"  '^^>'  ^'- 

wrought,crLde^aV;t:;;^^^ 

when  cornbh  ed  are  f?  '  "^  ^'  ^^^^  '"^ividually  are. 
they  have  not  been  elk  l^;"";^',  '"^  ^^''^""'ff  »^^^^"«e 
pei4d  in  proper  order  iV  «^  arranged  and  dis- 

principle  a^a^vTew  of  il  e  ir  ^"^'^""'ff  "»  t^^  same 
Louvre  would  fbrmeHv  hL  h  ""'  T^  P'"^'"*'"^^  «^  ^he 
when  surroundTbv  hpiir  .  ?"'  ^^"^  ^^^  '^'*"^"  ''^Po^e 
dour-"    And  ?f7  a'u  ''''."'«!'t/«rms  and  dazzling  splen- 

mlKsfmJh,       '"''■''^  ""=  P"»«  ■"•■  <l"s  =>»tl'o>-  (mean. 
ly  described  ;;''^' P^^"^'^ne&.^      1  hese  he  has  eloquent- 

presentfbefo  eus   b^er^'r"^^''^""  ^'  ^'^''  -^*i'«'') 
t  oerore  us.  tor  example,  a  panoramic  view  of  the 


xlix 


j)Ocm,  not  a  criticisin.     And  this  is  the  last~l  give  you 
joy,  reader     Many  brief,  and  highly  flattering  notices 

!)utlle  of  Niagara,  we  ahnost  lose  the  spectacle,  here 
and  thtre  we  discover  grf)ups  of  warriors  engaged  in 
mortal  combat;  but  these   forms  are  so   inconsidera- 
ble and  so  casually  represented,  that  we  almost  wonder 
why  they  should  occupy  that  place."— He  proceeds  in 
answer  to  his  own  fj[ue3tion.     "We  will  say  it  is  poetry, 
poetry  in  the  most  rigid  sense  of  the  term.     The  mist, 
for  example,"  (now  reader  you   are  coming  to  it)— 
•'gathers  around  the  hill,  and  we  expect,  on  its  disper- 
siou,  to  see  the  hostile  squadrons  arrayed  in  order  of 
battle— nay!  be  not  impatient  gentle  reader,  gaze  for  a 
few  moments  in  this  mist— it  is  kindled  with  softened 
and  delicate  lit^ht,  and  rolls  along  in  fleeting  masses  to 
the  top  ofthemountuin— now  the  warriors  will  sudden- 
ly emerge — hush — did  j  ou  not  see  that  white  foot  of  a 
de.scending  spirit,  as  it  touched  its  cloudy  pedestal^ — the 
cloud  mantles  over  it— it  is  gone!     Again,  look  at  that 
radiant  arm  as  it  reposes  itself  tipon  that  pillow  of  va- 
])(mr  -  (borrowed,   I    fear,    from    Hunt's    Foliage:)-- 
where''  it  is  gone!  what  a  countenance  is  there   dis- 
played- in  all  the  glow  of  immortal  youth— what    a 
neck;  soft  and  beuuiiful  as  the  bosom  of  mercy  —where, 
where?  sure  enough — where?  for  the  cloud  with  all  its 
glorious  tenantry  has  departed;  and  we  see  nothing  but 
the  mountain  in  his  naked  majesty.     We  gaze  again, 
and  an  eagle  that  seems  dropped  from  the   sun,  and 
is  now  struggling  to  regain  his  native  element,  presents 
himself  to  our  vision—with  what  grandeur  he  stretches 
along  the  solar  track  of  the  firmament!  and  then  va.- 
nishes  from  the  eye! 

"While  we  are  gazing  upward  for  his  re-appeai- 
ance,  we  find  ourselves,  without  hax'^ing  stirred  an  inch 
from  the  ground,  on  the  borders  of  an  intenninable  lake: 
(The  greatest  compliment  that  was  ever  paid  to  a  poet. 
My  aim  was  to  exhibit  the  capricio\is  changes  of  a 
magic  lantern,  without  disturbing  the  spectator,)  the 
brown  Indian  in  his  canoe,  skims  along  the  surface,  and 


1 

have  appeared  n  the  newspapers  of  the  clay,  but  1  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them-it  is  not  their  duty  to  watch 
:>ver  the  literary  reputation  of  their  country. 

By  the  by,  it  is  very  strange,  tliat  so  little  noUce 
has  been  taken  of  Goldau.   Only  one  reviewer  has  men- 
tionedit.   Inmy  opinion,  though  of  adifTerent  character 
from  Niagara-it  is  fully  equal  to  it,  forpoetiy,  strength, 
and  action-^nd  calculated  to  be  much  more  popular 
That  one  reviewer  has  this  sweeping  remark- which 
is  false,  absolutely  false;  or  to  use  a  genteel  sjnony- 
me~it,,8  downright  modern  cndcism.    He  says,  speak- 
.ngof  Goldau--At  the  close,  he  describes  tlie  fkU  of 

his  oar  twinkles  in  the  solar,  (not  solar-it  Is  nlirht~irt 
the  poem:)  beam  as  he  disturbs  the  bo  om  ofT^^ 
liquid  element.  Where?  The  *ih.,Hn„A„  ,      "^^ 

-But  how  polishecl  how  resS^ent  i^ir^^'r^' 
surface  of  thfs  lake!  '  A  subtSS'si^'bu',^:  tZ 
centre,  surrounded  by  overhantring-  rn^L  .  • 

and  venei-able  woods.^  It  an  e-Js  Ip  ?^''  moun  ai,is 
to  emerg.  from  the  sn^rT:^^':^:^^:'::^ 
as  if  we  were  standing  on  the  edo-e  nf  ^fi-  kA-  i 
cipice  ready  to  pw!  into  thet?mam/„ttC^  ^B^i 
methmks,  the  winds,  cries  the  spectator,  blow  too  rude 

he  VariT  f  r-^'^Tf-  ^'^^'  «oundVasCit  w^ 
the  harp  of  an  invisible  spirit  almost  drowned  in  fC 
roar  of  the  tempest— we  feel  the  flntf^,.  IV  ?•  ■ 
upon  the  face,  as' he  rides  upon  the"^!,^:*  ^  1^^' 
ugam-the  blast  has  subsided!  ami  hil  mS"bIe  ten^.t 
IS  now  reposmg  upon  his  pillow  of  clouds!"  "'"' 

evcrZcylur'']  '  ^^'^^.^^  consent  to  be  abused,  for 

mcms^.oi.ableorun^vour^;:'!\^,^:;,^/H-^ 
IS  fever  and  genius  m  everv  Hne-  'ihnv«    i  '/^ 


m 


u 

the  hill  in  the  following  terms— the  language  indeed 
fails  now  and  then,  but  two  or  three  particulars,  wWcA 
may  be  found  in  the  accounts  fntbliahed  at  the  Hme»  are  given 
with  some  spirit."    Now— those  words  in  italicks,  are 
every  syllable  fafae.-  and  the  critick  knew  it,  or  ought  to 
have  known  it,  before  he  dabbled  in  criticism.    1  defy 
him  or  any  other  man  to  point  out  a  single  partkidar  in 
the  poem— in  any  accounts  that  were  ever  written  of  the 
event.    That  a  mountain  fell,  is  true.    The  rest  is  all 
invention.    But  this  is  the  fact— criticks  like  others, 
may  be  ignorant,  but  they  are  not  wUling  to  appear  so. 
For  the  purpose  then,  of  showing  his  familiarity  with 
an  unknown  subject,  he  hazards  a  remark  which  proves 
to  be  diametrically  opposite  to  the  truth. 

In  Another  place  he  says-  -"The  second  poem,  Gol- 
dau,  with  a  little  invenHon  and  good  management,  might 
have  been  made  attractive.  Of  the  good  management, 
I  shall  say  nothing.  But  of  the  invention,  I  -wilf.  say 
this,-it  is  all  invention.  Every  line,  every  thought, 
every  combination,  even  to  the  particulars  and  descrip- 
tion of  the  event,  is  entirely  and  exclusively  my  own;  and 

is  invention.  * 

I  have  been  charged,  but  by  one  person  only— with 
imitaHon.  Others  have  vindicated  me,  indignantly.  And 
yet  I  think,  he,  though  wrong,  is  nearer  right  than  they 
are.  It  is  resemblance^  not  imitation.  I  used  to  imitate. 
—Moore  was  my  first  standard,  as  he  is  with  all  boys, 
when  they  first  begin  to  fancy  they  can  make  rhymes, 
and  fall  in  love;  and  I  have  even  imitated  others,  but 
never,  neter  without  acknowledging  it. 

I  would 'as  soon  be  an  ape  in  every  thing  as  in  any 


Ai*A 


te 


ir 


^  'k^- 


lii 

thing.  Reader,  try  the  question  for  yourself;  compare 
any  two  poets  together  that  the  world  ever  saw,  and  if 
you  do  not  hnd  more  res.nbiances  between  them,  than 
between  my  poem  and  that  of  any  other  human  being, 
then  call  me  an  imitator  and  welcome;  then  let  me  ffo 
down  to  my  grave,  loaded  with  the  sneaking,  abject,  pu- 
sdiammous  reputauon  of  a  pilferer  and  apSgdaL   ' 

verf  r   r"  '''"'  '"^'""'^  ^^^-''^^  ^•-'«^-  I  ne. 
ver  yet  could  stoop  to.    As  I  know  my  own  soul,  1  would 

not  ^nutate  the  greatest  poet  Uat  ever  breathed,  we  e 
Isure  of  never  being  discovered,  ,nd  equally  sure  of 
nnmortahty  for  doing  it.  No>I  bad  rather  be  damned 
for  ong.nah,, ,  than  worshipped  for  imitation  * 

So  scrupulous,  moreover,  havel  been  in  this  revisal, 

seriousindictment  for  llJ^^  '  am  exposed  to  a  more 

I  Should  not  intiS:&n'a;i  n^^^^^^^ 

(12th  April)  seen  a  poem  ^iocLm^^^rr'u' 
lished  m  Philadelnh  a  u.;th  „    ^^^^^  tixnv)  just  pub- 

and  confessions  ,ToX?.S  i  "^  i^'^"  '''^'^  dedications 
of  mine.  iTe  co  ncid  "f^;^- ^  unhke  this  very  scheme 
able  than  any  Xcfha  led  f';??.'"^".^ ^'^  "'T  ^^'"^^" 
The  first  case,  however  s  s(  m'  '  ''F  °-^  r'"^^""' 
I  wrote  KoP  €00^  rev  ^^vc  irrih''"""'*- "'^  ^'^"" 
some  very  erudite\n^  Iff  1  ".*^^  preface,  witli 
was  vt^i\i  .,    ^t^  ^"d  profound  critic  sms:  the  work 

«'  n  wWcEr  h:l""  frf'  Lallah'Rookh:^ 
spicuous  forthe\am  ""^'^^  Fadladeen  equally  con- 
is  worth  mentbnlnr^^  I"  both  cases,  and  it 
excJusiveHy  ow"f  and'?  ^'T.  *?l'  Y^'  ^'""^«  ^^^^e 

dy  on  earth  L^fno.      f  .  ""f  """^  ^^^^'^^  »"d  t^at  nobo- 
th^er^p^LtV^X:^^^^^^^^^^^  ^y>fo^ 


,..is(|i*»M*ta^^s 


elf;  compare 
■r  saw,  and  if 
n  them,  than 
uman  being, 
n  let  me  go 
:,  abject,  pu- 
agiarist. 
utation  I  ne- 
ioul,  1  would 
ithed,  were 
ally  sure  of 
be  damned 
1.* 
this  revisal, 

er,  that  in  . 

to  a  more 
plagiarism. 
is  moment, 

just  pub- 
Jcourse  on 
ledications 
ry  scheme 
•e  remark- 

imitation. 
cal;  when 
ace,  witli 
the  work 
lookh  ap- 
ially  con- 
^s,  and  it 
ims  were 
ither  saw 
bat  nobo- 
le  by,  for 


liii 

<x,  avoid  all  imitation,  that,  whenever  I  have  perceived 
a  resemblance^re.embUng  rV«t7a«cn-whether  m  epithet, 
mannerorlanguage,  evento  a  single  word,  1  have  struck 
it  out  The  fact  is,  whatever  be  the  consequence,  I 
am  determined  to  be  original,  though  it  lead  to.absurdi- 

ty  and  extravagance.  .  r.  -.  i    •« 

The  plain  truth  is,  however,  that  I  am  mfinitely  m- 
debted  to  Byron,  Moore,  and  Hunt.  To  others,  foreign- 
ers, I  acknowledge  no  indebtedriess,  for  I  have  read 
very  little  of  what  the  world  calls  "English  classicks 
since  I  was  able  to  judge  for  myself  Above  all,  am  I 
indebted  to  the  friendship  and  kindness  of  Mr.  Pier- 
pont-his  "Airs"  first  excited  my  ambiUon,  and  he  first 
ministered  to  the  workings  of  my  heart  These  poets 
have  educated  me.  I  do  not  imitate  them-I  have  only 
learnt  my  trade  of  them-and  now  I  have  set  up  for 

myself.  .,.  . 

»  It  is  somewhat  amusing  too,  that  this  very  cntick, 
who  has  made  such  discoveries  in  mousing  for  my 
imtatiom,  is  himself  a  downright,  wholesale  plagiarist. 
Let  us  begin  witli  a  little  thing-we  must  accommodate 
ourselves  to  the  vision  of  those  who  examine  firmaments 
with  a  microscope.  He  (the  critick)  calls  a  certam  pic 
ture  in  Niagara  a  refresHng  one:-yes,  reader,  a  refresh- 
ing  description.  Where  did  he  get  that  remarkable 
epithet,  and  how  had  he  the  courage  to  use  it?    I'll  tell 

•  As  an  example,  I  never  read  Collins'  Ode  to  the 
Passions,  till  I  saw  the  article  in  which  I  was  charged 
with  imitating  one  of  his  lines-and  then  1  ^7«;"}^^^^ 
to  see  how  he  had  imitated  me!  the  Lyre  of  the  \V  inds 
resembles  that  great  ode  exceedingly-m  its  structure, 


1 


liv 

you.  He  stole  it  from  t^  .-u  ^ 

«"y  thing  but  water,  turf  IdT'  "o"""  '"''■""""f  '» 
-«  <>»-rdi„g™U  '  t  r"K"^'"""'*'P«'^-  K 
-  richer  and  m„^  eapUvauI'I       ,    ''™''""'' '"  '=™>" 

"»  "'"^l-^T-thatthUmal  he„T    A  ''"'"'"''  " 

"•other  Pean  of  .fce  PoZ'^lu^"!?'"'  »'"'»ld  "» 

eonsequenoe-i  should  deW  ^         "'""^'f  »f «»«« 

>•>  the  poetry  of  Hunt-halah.    k  f'"'  ""*  "^  «»». 

%'>^u.«ndpeeuUaroftS:f;""^"'— <•«- 

«»'<'p"ja;i"°7::"'„i'r'*f''°*»'«"'''>who.c. 

thing  ne.  and  stra^.^    nrr    '""^-^^S  eve^ 
ever  deserved  the  na^e  of  po  t^'    ^'"^  ""■«  *»' 
'tra-ffe.    tti,„otfa„i,i„i' r^'    "  """^  '"»'>"'' 
"ou-plaee  staik,,  and  ^  ^t  7    .'  '"'*"'•  "">■ 
work  of  poetry,  the  habiUmenrhr"'  ""  P'*"" 
^t^nge,  but  having  pas    "  ^      I  """^ '""'  "'*  ""<• 
•■ave,  at  last.  becolToTd  ,t  "^''  """^  ^-"e-tions, 
that  constitutes  poe™y  Forth  ,°°™''""  "  "»'  this 

^e-y.  meuphor,  alfeg2  I' *™  *=  -hooi-boy  i  J 
thology.    AB  poets  ^^' L^  :;".:'°"  t"  »»""t  n,y. 
has  blundered  through  his^I      "    ^""^  "»"  that 
he  it  in  p,«se  orpoeV tl  M   "Jr:'''"""'""'"'', 
°f 'heir  f«„ish  and  ex^vL^"  f," '  "^  '^P-ti"S  so.e 
ye'  >'•  are  gui„y  „f  ^™f?*  fhles.  „  is  disg^ceH 
"""y  -n  do  it.^  „  :  ^^^'^^  'he  n,eHt,    Any' 

^  necessary  to  read  transla. 


Iv 


tions,  and  you  are  complete^  qualified.  You  have  a 
magazine  of  thunderbolts,  and  gods  and  goddesses,  and 
PhoebuSes,  and  Jupiters,  and  the  devil  knows  what. 
But  what  merit  is  there  in  it?  The  reader  knows  it  as 
well  as  you  do,  or  he  does  not.  If  he  does,  your  labour 
is  wasted,  and  he  is  angry.  If  he  does  not,  he  despises 
you.    Can't  you  invent,  he  says— must  you  repeat? 

So  it  is  with  epithet  and  imagery.  What  is  new,  is 
condemned  as  stnnge.  Yet  all  that  is  now  old,  was  once 
new.  Nothing  :.aows  the  character  of  a  poet  so  con- 
clusively as  his  epithets.  You  can  see  at  once  whether 
he  means  any  thing  by  them,  or  has  only  put  them  in,  as 
words  of  course. 

This  then  is  the  process  of  reasoning,  with  most  cri- 
ticks,  but  particularly  v/ith  mine.  You  do  not  write 
poetry.  Why?  Because  it  is  new  and  strange.  It 
doesn't  resemble  any  of  the  old  standard  works.  Ergo 
--it  is  not  poetry.  But,  suppose  it  is  not  new  and 
strange — suppose  it  does  resemble  the  old  standard 
poets— is  it  poetry  then?  Oh  no!  no— says  the  critick, 
with  a  profound  shake  of  the  head— no,  if  you  resemble 
them,  you  must  imitate  them.  Ergo,  you  are  no  poet 
either  way.  Thus,  whether  I  do,  or  d6  not  resemble 
the  consecrated  idols  of  poesy,  I  am  no  poet. 

But  now  for  the  plagiarism  which  I  charge  upon 
him.  Critick,  I  arraign  thee!  Thou  hast  been  guilty  of 
most  incorrigible,  injudicious,  awkward,  and  ridiculous 
pilfering  from  tlie  sentiment,  language,  and  even  manner 
of  a  predecessor.  Reader,  judge  thou  for  thyself.  Turn 
to  the  criticism  of  Lallah  Rookh,  in  the  North  American 
Review  for  Nov.  1817.    It  is  indeed  a  beautiful  article. 


n 


m'l 


V' 


.11 


; 


Ivi 

That  critick  was  a  poet.    He  had  the  right  touch— ho 
hud  seen  what  he  describes,  "the  green  leaves  rustling 
and  glittering  in  the  winds  and  moonlight."    Compare 
the  discriminating  criticism  of  that  poem,  in  pages  5,  6, 
T,  and  25,  with  the  censures  past  upon  Niagara,  in  the 
same  work  for  Dec.  1818— pages  142,  153,  156.    Look 
at  them.    Ts  it  not  ridiculous?    Men  should  have  judg- 
ment as  well  as  adroitness  when  they  steal:  and  circum- 
spection, as  well  as  flippancy  in  criticism.   Little  did  the 
latter  critick  tliink,  when  he  was  condemning  me  for 
the  very  same  faults  that  the  former  critick  found  in 
Moore— little  did  he  think  that  others  might  have  ad- 
mired the  same  article— and  possibly  might  remember 
enougji  to  detect  his  lubberly  tliieving. 

The  former  critick  says  what  is  exactly  true  of  his 
subject.    But  what  is  true  of  Moore— I  am  willing  to 
abide  by  what  I  say— must  be  entirely  untrue,  when  ap- 
plied to  me.    No  two  creatures  on  earth  resemble  each 
other  less.     Mtich  as  I  admire  Moore,  I  should  be 
sorry  to  resemble  him,  in  his  most  felicitous  inspiration. 
The  faults  of  Moore  are  those  of  delicacy,  and  finish, 
not  of  negligence,  passion,    or  tumult— and  mine,  I 
know,  are  exactly  the  reverse.    Moore  never  felt  a 
hurrying,  uncontrollable  emotion  in  his  life.    And  I— I 
claim  no  merit  from  it,  it  is  a  constitutional  infirmity — I 
never  felt  any  other  than  hurrying  uncontrollable  emo- 
tions.   Moore  is  the  most  beautiful  of  poets— As  a  song 
writer  he  is  beyond  the  reach  of  emulation— he  is  alto- 
gether  a  musician;  he   thinks,   breathes,    sings,  and 
writes  melodyr  but  with  all  this,  Moore  is  not  &  great 
poet.  The  grandest  imagery  that  he- ever  ventured  up- 


'  ■*i>3fep;u.#^if.^-. 


(  WBI^ 


iimmmtMn^: 


Ivii 


on,  becomes  beautiful  under  the  operation  of  his  enchant- 
ment.  Moore  might  be  terrible,  if  what  is  naturally 
terrible  in  some  of  his  conceptions,  were  less  artfully- 
more  nakedly  exhibited.  Read  his  songs— old  Ireland 
leaps  up  in  her  atmour  at  the  call  of  his  harp;  but,  in- 
stead  of  couching  her  lance  as  we  should  anticipate,  the 
apparition  performs  a  few  graceful  evolutions  before  us, 
and  vanishes.  I  remember  one  of  his  thoughts,  that  is 
without  a  parallel  in  the  English  language.  He  de- 
scribes an  old  harp,  neglected,  hdng  up  in  the  de- 
serted apartment  of  some  ruin— breaking,  string  after 
string,  in  midnight  and  solitude.  He  compares.it— but 
too  poetically,  that  is,  in  language  too  beautiful  and 
rich,  to  the  bursting  of  hearts,  one  after  another,  among 
the  defenders  of  Irelafid.  And  in  this  little  passage, 
the  whole  character  jf  Moore  may  be  seen.  He  has 
conceived  one  of  the  most  terrifick,  as  well  as  the 
most  felicitous  illustrations,  that  ever  came  into  the 
head  of  a  poet— but  see  how  he  has  iheUowed  and  sof- 
tened it  away.  You  feel,  in  dweUing  on  it,  no  other  emo- 
tion than  delight  at  his  consummate  art.  He  describes  a 
man,  or  rather  a  devil,  defeated  in  battle,  and  dying  as 
Cooke  did  in  Richard,  at  bay,  retreating  and  "murdering 

as  he  goes." 
«iy.s  a  grim  tiger,  whom  the  ton-ent's  might 
Surprises,  in  some  parched  ravine  at  night. 
Turns,  e'en  in  drowning  on  the  wretched  flocks. 
Swept  with  him  in  Ihat  snow-flood  from  the  rocks; 
And  to  the  last,  devouring  on  Us  -way,  » 

Bloodies  tfiestrtatn  he  hath  not  power  to  stay" 
How  infinitely  unworthy  of  the  conception  is  that 
n 


m 


fl 


Iviii 

language.    The  two  last  lines  are  the  only  decent  ane* 
in  the  picture;  but  they  are  beautiful. 

But  if  I  were  to  select  the  grandest-the  noblest 
painting  that  Moore  ever  gave  to  the  world,  it  would 
be  this.  //.r.-.for  once,  he  speaks  like  one  full  of  ter- 
rible and  circumstantial  inspiration.— 

"  ' -"The  labyrinth  led 

Through  damp  and  g]oom-'mid  crash  of  boughs, 
*^nd  fall  of  loosened  crags,  ih^iTonsQ 

The  leopard  from  his  hungry  sleep; 
Who,  starting,  thinks  each  crag  a  prey. 
And  long  is  h.a-d,/rew«  ,^ee;>  ^0  s^^;,, 

Chaffing  them  tlorm  their  thundenng  t^ay  >» 
Having  ventured  so  far,  even  without  putting  off 

my  sho.s.  within  the  prohibited  dominions  of  criticism 
sha    t,,    ,,    ,,        ^  ^^^^^  ^^^^^  ^  ^^^  ^  J.m 

longer,  in  looking  about  me,  before  the  dragons  are 

In  the  reviews  of  Lallah  Rookh  and  Niagara,  both 
cnticks-.(may  I  be  pardoned  for  associating  them  for  a 
tnoment,)  complain  that  the  thoughts  are  made  subordi- 

plaisance)-have  .A.,  considered  the  subject?    What 
IS  poe^y  but  imagery?  and  what  is  imagery  but  th. 

rLme  VH        *"""''  "  '^^'^'^'^^  ""^  '' ^  P--  or 

ever  may  be  Its  dress.    But  remember,  itisnotpoetn. 
without  n^aphor,  hyperbo}.,  allusion,  or  imagery     V^ 

rZTr  '  n '"^-    ''"^  ""^^  '^^^^^--'  -"^-pos- 
session, as  well  as, genius  to.tlun^  poetically.      His 


lix 


mind  must  be  enriched,  trained  to  the  contemplation 
of  all  objects  under  different  lights  and  evolutions  He 
must  serve  an  apprenticeship,  before  he  can  even  think 
poetically.  But  even  then,  when  filled  with  thought,  he 
has  anotJier  course  of  discipline  to  undergo,  before  he 
can  express  hiniself  poetically.  He  may  be  full  of  mu. 
sick— full!— yet  he  must  leai-n  tl^e  fingering,  before 
he  can  play  on  a  flute  or  a  harpsichord.  Poets  acquire 
a  mechanical  habit  of  finding,  or  conjuring  up  resem- 
blances, and  illustrations,  tliat  to  themselves  may  be 
very  obvious,  while  others,  unaccustomed  to  the  ra- 
pidity of  poetical  combinations,  will  consider  them  as 
far-fetched.  The  operations  of  a  poetic&i  mind  are,  to 
the  mere  critick,  as  unintelligible,  and  to  the  poet  him- 
self as  inexplicable,  as  the  phenomena  of  Zera  Col- 
bourn's  were  to  the  sober  mathematicians  of  this  world. 
Poets,  like  that  boy,  when  asked  how  they  do  such 
^ings,  can  only  say  as  he  did— we  know  not,  there  is  a 
noise  and  a  flame  about  us — we  see  and  hear  things 
>yitli  other  senses  during  these  visitations;  we  are  en- 
compassed with  a  fiery  influence,  and  tremble  as  in  the 
presence  of  Divinity.  , 

But  let  me  give  an  illustration  of  thi^  doctrine  res- 
pecting poetry.  Job  was  a  poet;  He  describes  a  horse. 
The  thouerht  he  ^ould  express  at  tlie  bottom,  in  its  na- 
kedness, is  no  more  than  any  man  might  have,  though 
he  were  no  poet — but  the  mannei'  is  peculiar  to  the 
poet.  The  thought,  we  will  suppose  to  be  this.  I  saw 
^  horse.— He  reared  and  plunged,  threw  up  his  head, 
;^nd  neighed,  and  strug^gledto  get  at  the  enemy.  Such 
1^  the  lan^age  of  nature  an^  passion.    It  is  th.e  Ij^n- 


f 


*s««li^*^. 


^■ 


f  j^uagte  too,  of  the  critick  ^nd  the  savage.  They  both 
tiescribe  the  event,  as  they  saw  it.  They  perceive  no 
^semblances,  for  they  have  never  been  accustomed  to 
Ibok  for  them.  They  cannot  be  poetical  in  their  des- 
cription, because  they  have  no  experience  in  poetical 
thought  or  poetical  association.  But  how  does  Job  do 
It?    Something  in  this  way,  if  I  recollect  right.    Hii 

WBCK   WAS  CLOTHKS  WITH  THtlKOXB.      ThI   OLOItT  OF  HIS 
V0I$TRIL8  WAS  TERRIBLE.      H»  SWAI.I.OWSTH  THK   GROViril 

WITH  riEBCEHEss  AWD  RAOB.  That  vioyf  is  poetry.  It  is 
not  the  language  of  passion.  Nor  is  it  the  language  of 
■  nature.  Men  do  not  talk  about  necks  being  clothed  with 
thunder,  the  glory  of  nostrils,  nor  of  swallowing  the 
ground,  unless  they  are  on  the  very  verge  of  madness. 
If  such  language  bad  never  been  used,  who  would  dare 
to  use  it  now.?  who  would  dare  to  speak  of  floods 
<*clapping  their  hands,"  and  mountains  skipping  about 
like  young  lambs?  nobody —nobody,  on  earth.  When 
that  poetry  was  written.  Criticism  had  not  yet  uttered 
her  blasphemies. 

Let  us  take  another  example— the  most  overwhel- 
ming and  omnipotent  energy  in  description  that  the 
Whole  Bible  contains.  Let  tubre  be  uobt — aito  thbre 
■WA9  iiGHT.  Is  that  poetry?  No.  Could  Job  have 
Spoken  as  Moses  did,  had  he,  like  Moses,  bowed  him- 
llelf  down  to  the  revelations  of  the  Eternal?— -no,  he 
f  Ould  not.  He  would  have  made  the  whole  creation,— 
the  coming  forth  of  oceans,  and  mountains,  and  stars 
—but  a  poem.  The  Deity  might  have  been  heard,  and 
seen,  thundering  over  the  firmament,  whirlwinds  and 
darkness  encompassing  him  round  about— but  after  all. 


# 


bd 


it  would  have  been  only  poetry.  Awful,  fublime,  and 
terrible,  it  might  have  been— but  it  would  have  borne 
about  the  same  proportion  to  this  one  line»  let  there  be 
Ufkt,  and  there  wot  Uqht — that  the  language  of  man,  in 
its  utmost  elevation,  would  bear  to  the  language  of  the 
Everlasting  God. 

This  then  is  my  conclusion.  Poetry  is  not  the 
highest  reaching  of  langus^e:  yet  it  is  the  highest  that 
can  be  measured  by  the  generality  of  raen.  In  deacrip- 
tive  poetiy,  the  thought,  as  it  is  in  Job's  description  of 
the  hors^,  must  be  subordinate  to  the  imagery.  In  the 
drama,  in  tragedy,  in  passionate  poetry,  tlie  language  of 
suffering,  adoration,  or  rejoicing-^the  imagery  must  be 
subordinate  to  the  thought: — indeed  there  should  be 
very  little,  if  any  imagery  at  all,  employed  then.  The 
legitimate  language  of  passion  is  a  terrible  simplicity. 
The  thought  must  be  unencumbered— naked.  Poetical 
language,  to  a  thought  of  genuine  passion— is  what  a 
Roman  toga  would  be  the  dying  gladiator.  It  hides 
the  action  of  the  muscles,  and  the  mighty  working  of 
agony. 

In  description,  however,  it  is  (]Urectly  the  reverse. 
You  might  as  well  place  a  naked  man  on  the  boards  of 
an  opera,  to  tell  a  story;  as  to  describe  any  thing — for 
example — a  battle— a  landscape— or  a  horse— in  natural 
language.  There  we  look  for  spectacle— colouring  and 
pageantry. 

The  language  of  poetry— the  descriptions  of  poe- 
try— are  not  those  of  nature,  I  say  again.    It  is  all  hy- 
perbole—more highly  coloured — and  better  grouped 
than  Nature.    So  it  is  in  painting.    So  in  statuary.    A 
n  9. 


i,  I' 


u 


,--»WIWSM'V 


:-^^^g%.^ 


IJ 


h  \\li 


J 


perfectly  natural  man -sculptured— however  perfect 
the  model  might  be— would  excite  no  such  feeHng  as 
the  Apollo  does.  To  make  one  Venys,  the  beauHet  of 
many  women  were  assembled— and  embodied-their 
imperfections  were  left  out.    Is  that  nature  iUenf 

In  one  woi«d— to  prove  that  poetical  description— 
whether  by  painting— sculpture -or  poetry— (for  each 
is  capable  of  poetical  description)— to  prove  that  it  h 
not  faithfully  natund— 1  would  ask  you  this  question. 
Did  you  ever  see  a  great  painting  of  a  horse?    Did  you 
ever  sec  a  fine  poetical  description  of  a  horae?    Did 
you  ever   see   a  good  representation  of  a  horse,  in 
marble?    To  one  of  tliose  you  may  probably  reply  in 
the  affirAiative.    Then  I  ask  you  this  question.    Did 
you  ever  feel  such  enthusiasm  at  the  sight  of  any  Uving- 
horse?    I  leave  you  to  make  the  reply— one  word  will 
decide,  whether  you    admire   these  masterpieces  of 
.  sculpture,  and  painting,  and  poeti-y  for  their  nature. 
And  now  one  word  more  of  these  criticks  and  re- 
viewers.    Who  are  they.'    .It  has  been  my  fortune  to 
know  many  of  them— some  intimiitely;  and  I  have  al- 
ways  found  them— out  of  their  studies— a  very  harmless, ' 
inolFcnsive  soil  of  gentry.     None  that  I  know,  are  re- 
markable for  talents,  or  science,  or  taste!    Most  of  them 
would  tremble— in  publick,  before  the  very  men,  whose 
reputation  they  attack,  tooth  and  nail,  with  the  most  ve- 
hement  intrepidity,  under  the  cloak  of  their  profession. 
The  truth  is— they  escape  criticism  from  the  very 
nature  of  their  writings— not  from  their  superiority;  — 
for  they  are  often— in  decency  be  it  spoken— the  ven- 
ders of  a  flat,  vapid,  sluggish  kind  of  solemnity;  or  pf 


Ixiii 


er  perfect 
I  feeflnjf  as 
'■  beautiet  of 
lied— their 
thenP 

scription— 
-(for  each 
i  that  it  h 
I  question. 
?    Did  you 
)r8e?    Did 
horse,  in 
r  reply  in 
tion.    Did 
any  living" 
word  will 
'pieces  of 
nature. 
cs  and  re- 
t'ortunjc  to 
I  have  al- 
harmless, ' 
vv,  are  re- 
It  of  them 
;n,  whose 
most  ve- 
rofession. 
the  very 
riority;  — 
-the  vcn- 
ity;  or  pf 


lively,  vehement  nonsense— busy— bustling  and  insigni- 
ficant Every  wh^re  —I  say  it  not  of  American  journal, 
ists  alone— for  some  of  them  are  respectable,  independ- 
ent and  decorous  m  their  criticisms — the  editors  are 
generally  a  hireling  set— mere  bookseller's  hacks,  alike 
destitute  of  principle,  character,  and  feeling.  Gene- 
rally—the most  licentious,  rancorous,  and  abusive  criti- 
cisms that  appear,  are  the  production  ofmereboyi: 
Ambitious  of  notoriety,  and  seeking  it,  like  the  young 
Romans,  by  fastening  upon  established  reputation  in 
the  way  of  impeachment;  virulent,  unprincipled,  and 
boisterous: -Using  words  without  knowing  their  power, 
and  pronouncing  with  the  most  determined  composure, 
sentences  that  have  been  matured  without  reflection— ^ 
strengthened  without,  experience— and  formed,  nine 
times  out  of  ten,  without  their  having  ever  read  the 
book  which  they  curse,  or  acquit.  The  devil  take  such 
writers! —I  say. — It  is  the  heartiest  prayer  I  ever  uttered. 
Manly,  frank  criticism— I  love— I  venerate.  The  more 
severe,  the  better.  But  for  the  drivelling,  despica- 
ble, sneaking  cant  of  the  trade,  I  have  the  most  uncen>, 
querable  aversion  and  contempt, ' 

And  now  reader,  farewell!  we  are  about  to  part — 
for  ever.  A  few  words  more,  and  I  shall  have  done. 
I  began  to  scribble  from  necessity— I  continued  it  from 
necessity— thai  necessity  no  longer  exists,  and  I  aban- 
don it —from  duty.  1  began  the  business  for  my  bread 
—to  support  myself  during  a  course  of  severe,  unpro- 
fitable, and  discouraging  study— ^and  if  bread  was  all 
that  I  now  cared  for,  I  should  continue  it— for  I  am  one 
among  the  few  scribblers  in  America,  who  can  keep 
D3 


■  n: 


.'  i 


11 


} 


7 


*  Ixiv 

their  chins  out  of  water  by  making  books.      I  hz^S  , 
now,  as     have  before  s£ud— another  ambition;  and  to 
its  impulses  \  Aall  exclusively  devote  myself— till  other 
seasons— and  other  days,  and  so— fivewell  to  poesy. 

As  Wordsworth  says— and  it  is  the  best  thing  he 
ever  did  say — "reader,  jndgfffor  yourself."    Don't  trou- 
ble your  head  about  what  your  neighbours  think  of  this 
poem— if  you  like  it— if  you  feel  any  dizziness,  any  lifting 
of  the  heart,  any  tingling  or  thrilling  in  your  veins;  if 
you  feel  your  pulsation  quickened  or  suspended;  or 
your  sight  grow  dim  for  a  single  moment;  or  your  coun- 
tenance breaking  into  ?uiiles,  before  you  know    it; 
never  stop  to  search  out  the  cause -give  a  loose  to  your 
feeling,  indulge  it,  it  is  innocent,  and,  like  the  first 
kisi  of  love— never  to  be  experienced  but  once.     Vou 
never  feel  a  second  time,  such  emotions  in  contem- 
plating any  ihing— no  matter  what  it  is:— in  hearing  or 
Reading  any  thing,  no  matter  what  it  is— as  you  did 
at  first.    You  cannot— it  is  impossible — you  may  affect 
it,  but  you  only  make  yourself  ridiculous.      The  first 
gush  of  the  heart  is  spontaneous:— the  longer  it  runs— 
the  feebler  it  is  —until  it  dies  away  in  drops  and  trick- 
lings.  ' 

If  you  feel  any  thing  of  this— reader— t^  h  poetry. 
Nothing  but  poetry  can  excite  it.  Poetry  is  the  lan- 
guage of  genius- the  expression  of  divinity.  Poetry 
may  be  revealed  in  statuary— musick— architecture— 
and  painting— as  well  as  in  language.  It  is  in  thought- 
conception. 

On  the  contrary,  if  you  do  not  like  these  poems- 
do  not  attempt  to  analyze  your  feelings:— after  reading 


oks.     I  ha\^€  , 
bition;  and  to 
self— till  other 
I  to  poesy. 
best  thing  he 
"    Don't  troii- 
ps  think  of  this 
less,  any  lifting 
i  your  veins;  if 
suspended;  or 
;  or  your  coun- 
you  know   it; 
a  loose  to  your 

like  the  first 
ut  once.  Vou 
ons  in  contem- 
— in  hearing  or 

is — as  you  did 
-you  may  affect 
•us.  The  first 
longer  it  runs — 
Irops  and  trick- 

tr—it  !s  poetry. 
letry  is  the  lan- 
ivinity.  Poetry 
-architecture — 
t  is  in  thought— 

these  poems — 
}:— after  reading 


Ixv 

ttiem  as  they  ought  to  be  read—in  soUtude— or  with 
mose  you  love— on  a  still,  moon-light  night— if  you  feel 
i|othing  of  this— no  working  of  the  heart— no  knitting 
<f  the  sinews -put  ^em  in  the  fire  at  once— bum  them 
-tburn  them!  Whatever  they  may  be  to  others— to  you 
^py  are  not  poetryi 

Did  you  ever  see  a  biautiful  woman— and  stand  *till 
your  sight  grew  dim  in  wondering  at  her?— That  was 
poetry.    The  language  of  heaven— of  him  who  em- 
V>roidered  the  firmament— and  fashioned  the  loveliness 
©f  woman— is  poetrjr.    You  felt,  in  looking  at  her— an 
Indefinable,  thick-coning  luxury— a  bewildering,  and 
yeligious  dehght.  You  saw  her  again:— did  you  feel  the 
^ame  emotion?    No'.—the  feeling  of  man— of  the  critick, 
Vas  awake;     You  proceeded- from  wishing  a  little 
more  freshness  in  htr  cheek— a  glossier  lustre  to  her 
hair— to  the  discovery,  that  not  one  limb  was  properly 
piodelled— one  feature  properly  fashioned— or  a  single 
atom  of  flesh  properly  coloured.   In  this  way,  creatures 
of  fine  feeling,  by  listening  to  others,  become  so  coldly 
phlegmatick— as  to  stand  before  her  without  emotion, 
and  watch  the  play  of  her  countenance  in  conversation; 
^he  unfettered  enchantment  of  her  limbs  in  the  dance; 
r-aye,  without  one  blessing— one  quick  breath— or  one 
pulsation,  more  or  less,  than  they  would  have  felt  in  con- 
templating a  rope-dancer.    In  short— to  say  all  in  one 
word— you   were  human  creatures— you  became  cri- 
ticks.  ' 

It  is  always  so.    We  are  never  enthusiasts  after  the 
first  rapid,  fiery,  tumultuous  trancing  of  the  spirit,  in  the 
fever  of  its  first  excitement— whether  in  religion— love 
D4 


\ 


V: 


I 


■-•1. 


"U¥^;h-,  »»!»?«l»*«ljB* 


f  I 


J  I 


Izvi 

-poetry-orany  thing el8e:-whenyau>/, you  cannot 
cnticise.  At  first,  we  stand  breathless-  our  arms  in. 
voluntarily  liftcd-and  our  lips  unck)sed-whe»  we 
see  any  thing  worth  our  astonishme»t  Then- we  can- 
not taIk-K)ur  feelings  are  indescribable -and  we  have 
no  opimons.  Soon  after,  we  be^  to  chatter  rigkt 
sensibly-but  then-the  blesspd  feeling  of  the  subject 
has  departed  from  us.  1 

Honeit  criticism-at  best,  though  a  noble,  is  but  a  cru- 
el art.    It  is  a  necessary,  buc  mortifjing  exercise  of  our 
powers     It  sobers  away  dl  our  delusions-tames  us 
into  nothmgness-and  compels  u5  to  turn  away  from  the 
thickemng  visions  of  our  fancy-Uke  new  breeched 
boys  from  go-carts  and  rag-babies;-  and  for  what?^Ta, 
gwsp  a  kile-string,  aKd  play  at  marbles.    And,  after  aU 
what  do  we  gain.P     Are  we  the  happier,  for  having' 
these  delusions  stripped  to  their  skeleton  deformity^ 
Is  not  happiness  itself  a  dreanV-enjoyment  a  deliriim^ 
Ought  we  to  thank  the  offidous  hand  that  scatter  a 
sudden  enchantment,  even  while  it  is  breaking  upon 
^us-wbde  the  sky  is  all  one  rain-bow-and  heaven  it- 
self  seems  nearer  earUi?~no--no.   It  is  fanaticism- 
it  is  cruelty.    I  thank  no  such  meddlers.    A  delicioua 
dream  IS  better  than  a  weary  reahty.    And  I  should  ne.    • 
ver  forgive  the  wretch  that  could  awaken  a  lovely  girl, 
for  example,  from  her  dreams~at  the  very  moment      , 
when  her  looks  were  brightening-her  colour  coming 
and  going-her  bosom  heaving-and  her  whole  form 
illuminated:-though  it  we  aU-  all  de2usion:.-no-ne. 
ver~never!-were  that  girl  even  my  sister-or  mv 
child. 


I 


/ 


Ixvii 

Reader,  the  blessing  of  heaven  be  upon  you!— Of 
^s  poem— I  only  ask  you  to  judge  as  you  feel.  And 
f»ow —farewell  '.—farewell  for  ever!  Hearken  to  no,  cri- 
Iticism  l?ut  that  of  your  heart. 

JOHN'  J^EAL. 

fifiUimoret  June,  1819. 


I 

r 


y 


.k 


f^. 


/ 


FRELmiJ>rMr  poem. 


ss 


'TWAS  night,  and  the  breath  of  the  tempest  was  near; 

And  her  plumes  were  unfolded  abroad  o'er  the  sky; 
The  lightnings  were  held  in  their  struggling  career; 

And  the  so'ng  of  the  waters  went  patiently  by. 

A  heaviness  was  in  the  air. 

As  if  some  hovering  shape  were  there, 

With  languid  wing,  and  floating  hair; 

Some  cloudy  one,  whose  shiggish  flight. 
Was  stooping  to  a  dreary  home; 

And  hung  Leneath  the  vault  of  night, 

As  if  to  intercept  Uie  light, 

Tliat,  bursting  wide,  and  flashing  bright, 
Rolled  o'er  the  clouds  in  pulpy  foam: 


All  were. as  still,  in  heaven  and  earth,  ^ 
As  they  that  watch'd  Creation's  birth— 
When  O!— a  sudden  trumpet-blast. 
Burst  loudly  on  the  ear! and  past- 
Then  came  the  i^W  of  drums!— and  high 
The  cannon's  voice  went  thundering  by!— 
\nd  tb en—the  thrilling  bu^lo  cry! 


l/^ 


TO 


*     BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


And  then— amid  the  clouds-were  heard 
Strange— fearful  echoes  to  the  song; 

And  o'er  the  skies  there  shrieked  some  bird. 
That  went  on  viewless  wing  along! 

And  then— a  far  tumultuous  sound. 

Beyond  the  hills,  went  rolling  outj 
As  if  a  sleeping  host  had  found 
A  sudden  resurrection  there— 

And  burst  the  ground 

And  starting  up  tht  rjdnight  air 
Pealed  all  at  once  their  battle-ghout! 

■ 

As  ifa  multitude  had  risen. 
The  giants  of  our  warring  race. 
Amid  the  solitudes  of  space. 
And  heaved  their  everlasting  prison- 
Some  mountain!— from  its  base! 
And  countless  wings  arose— and  by 
They  swept  with  warrior-minstrelsy— 
Like  that  ye  hear  amid  the  sky. 
While,  in  the  pauses  of  the  storm. 
Some  air-blown  trump— is  laughing  clear      ' 
In  distant  worlds!-and  harps  are  near. 
And  pipes  are  lireathing  in  your  ear; 
When  the  strong  wiijd  comes  out  again- 
Bearing  away  the  wondrous  strain: 
•     Sweeping  from  earth  the  minstrel.form. 

i 

And  then— oh  then!— there  went  a  cry 
Just  like  the  song  of  victory^ 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


71 


When  dying  men  rise  up,  and  peal 

Their  last  triumphant  shout, 
With  all  the  strength,  that  warriors  feel, 

When  life  is  ebbing  out: 

4 

When— on  the  air,  and  up  the  sky, 

A  crowded— thick— far  whispering  goos; 

And  vapoury  hosts  appear  on  high, 

Sweeping  and  jostling  giddUy; 

As  if  some  sudden  trump  had  blown; 

And  answering  quick,  had  upward  flown 

The  thronging  dead!— and  each  had  found 

His  mortal  enemy  agjun— 
'  Just  as  upon  the  battle  ground, 

They  parted  last— among  J^e  slwn! 

As  if  an  angry  world  arose— 
On  shadowy  steeds,  amid  the  sky 

And  heaven  itself  were  filled  with  foes— 
That  fought  them  battles  o'er  on  high— 
In  warring  immortality. 

As  if  the  earth— as  if  the  main— 
The  crimson  wave— the  crimson  plain 
Had  yielded  up  their  dead  again— 
In  blood  and  foam— just  as  they  died— 
Upon  the  earth— upon  the  tide! 


'.#f 


■.'J*.  » 


i 


I 


\ 


Then  a  minstrel  was  seen,  and  a  vision  came  forth,  ^" 
Like  a  cold  troubled  Ught,  o'er  the  clouds  of  the  north. 


^. 


7% 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


>' 


I 


fl 


And  the  bok  of  the  minstrel  was  liftea  and  high: 
And  the  hg-Ms  of  the  storm  and  the  hghts  of  the  sky, 
WMe  his  robe  was  abroadon  the  breeze  that  went  by. 
Were  flashing  and  wild  in  the  dark  of  his  eye: 

A  moment  he  paused-and  his  look  was  upraised: 
i hen  he  st.rted-^and  shook-like  a  creature  arna^ed- 
J^or  lol^all  the  strength  of  his  soul  v^as  revealed-- 

Ihe  thunder  rolled  out!-andthenearhghtningblazed. 
And  he  turned  him  away  from  the  vault  where  he  gazed 

As  if  he  had  seen-what  its  darkness  concealed!    ' 
The  .hunder  rolled  out!-yet  he  stood  all  alone- 
Exultin^-hke  one  that's  recovered  a  throne.^ 

A  harp  was  before  him-his  hand  in  the  air 
.  Yet  it  paused  e'er  it  feU  on  his  echoing  lyre 

And  trembled  and  dwelt,  as  uplifted  in  prayerl 
Niagara  roll'd!~and  the  battle  was  there' 

The  pealing  of  thunder-and  rushing  of  fire' 
The  future  in  pomp  was  assembled  before  him- 
^    He  felt  as  the  pinions  of  prophecy  bore  him; 

And  yet,  for  the  dreams  of  his  morning  had  flown 
His  heart  was  oppressed  with  a  terror  unknown,' 

The  chill  of  the  night  on  his  spirit  was  shed 
Like  the  damps  that  abide  on  the  brow  of  the  dead- 
But  more  than  the  murmurs  of  night  were  around, 
m^  he  stooped  o'er  his  harp  and  awakened  a  sound- 
For  voices  were  heard  in  the  air!  ' 

Like  the  stirring  that  comes  from  the  tenanted  grQun4 
,:;   When  revelry  wanders  there! 


-•\,.- 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


73 


lifet  thrice  he  smote  the  palsied  strings. 
And  thrice  he  heard  the  rush  of  wings. 

And  feeble  murmurings  rose! 
As  if  some  startled  spirit  fled — 
Some  soldier's  guard — where  he  had  bled-- 

Disturbed  in  her  repose! 
As  if  some  warrior  rsused  his  bead. 
And  listened  from  his  bloody  bed. 

To  requiems  o'er  his  foes! 

The  minstrel  left  the  field  of  blood; 

And  stood  above  the  mighty  flood; 

And  listened  to  his  stormy  voice; 

And  heard  it  on  the  winds  rejoice; 

And  there — he  would  hav6  sung — but  there. 

The  awe  he  felt  was  in  the  air — 

Was  all  about — was  every  where: 


Then  he  stood  on  a  cliff,  when  the  Morning  unrolled 
Her  banners  of  crimson,  and  purple,  and  gold; 
Her  plumage,  and  robe  with  its  changeable  fold; 

And  felt,  as  he  saw  all  these  splendours,  outspread. 
As  if  he  Ivtd  gone  where  some  mighty-one  slumbew. 
With  the  ruins  of  song,  and  the  relicks  of  numbers; 

Who  'woke  as  he  heard  the  unhallowed  tread! 


f 


iTet — yet  'twas  an  impulse  may  never  be  quenched: 
The  fountains  that  burst  where  the  light  hath  its 

source — 
Or  cherubim  wings,  may  be  stayed  in  their  course 


,*#^ 


•%■ 


il 


I' 


74 


BATTLE  OF  NfAGARA. 


i 


I  # 


When  they  lighten  along  where  the  storm  is  entrenched; 

Her  spear,  from  the  Angel  of  n>|fKt„  may  be  wrenched; 

Or  the  plumage  of  Peace  in  Jie  oa^lo  >  e  drenched,— 
When  it  bends  o*erthe  strife,  like  the  bow  of  the  sky. 
Or  the  light  that  is  seen  in  a  martyr'd-one*s  eye;— 
Before  you  may  still  the  tumultuous  voice 

Of  a  heart  that  is  heaving  with  song; 
Before  ye  may  silence  the  lyres  that  rejoice. 

Where  the  wind  from  the  water  comes  sweeping  along; 

And  the  chorus  of  mountain  and  cavern  is  strong. 

The  minstrel  smote  his  harp  once  more; 

And  loudly  then,  there  went  this  strain, 
IJiisteadily,  from  shore  to  shore. 

And  died  along  the  distant  main. 

My  country!  my  home!  sunny  land  of  my  fathers! 

Where  empires  unknown  in  bright  solitudes  lie; 
Wher6  Nature,  august  in  serenity,  gathers 

The  wonders  of* mountain,  and  ocean,  and  sky: 
Where  the  blue  dome  of  heaven  scarce  bounds  her 
dominion: 
Where  man  is  as  free  as  the  creatures  ofsur; 
*A9  thine  Eagle— of  fleet,  uncontrollable  pinion; 
1%e  gallant  gray  Bird  of  the  winds!  that  is  there. 

That  eagle,  whose  spirit  each  morning  renews. 
As  her  god  thro*  unquenchable  light  she  pursues. 
And  tosses  her  plumes  to  the  trumpet  acclaim: — 
-  fll|th*  rushing  of  wings,  and  the  screaming  of  praise, 
lll^t  her  stany*eyed  nurslings  in  ecstacy  raise. 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


76 


As  they  mount,  with  their  bosoms  all  l.ure,  in  the  blaic 
Ot*  their  idol,  whose  temple  is  curtained  with  flame! 

My  cou}itry!  my  home!  in  whose^hallowed  retreats. 
An  horizon  of  blue,  with  a  blue  water  meets, 

'Till  the  whole  like  one  ocean  appears! 
'Till  the  eye  that  dwells  long  on  the  faint,  distant  verge, 
Bewildered  to  see  the  fresh  islets  emerge, 
Like  evergreen  grottoes  redeemed  from  the  surge, 

Overflows— in  the  worship  of  tears! 

Where  the  sun  travels  low  in  his  chariot  of  light; 
And  the  stars  and  the  hiUs  are  togethe.  at  night: 

Where  the  lustre  that  Day  at  his  parting  hath  shed. 
In  one  blush,  o'er  the  land  and  the  water  is  spread: 
And  swims  like  a  wreath  on  each  mountain's  proud  head; 
And  dwells  on  the  night, 
Of  each  cliff  *s  stormy  height—  * 

Whose  foliage  hangs  loosely  and  wUdly  in  air. 
Like  a  meteor-diadem,-dropped  in  the  flight  ^ 

Of  those,  who  are  forth  in  the  storm  and  the  fight. 
O'er  the  plumage  of  ravels  that  warrior-hehns  wear.  ^ 

There  the  Thunderers  stand!  in  their  fortress  of  shade; 
Like  a  guard  that  some  god  in  his  might  hath  arrayed: 

Where  the  foam-mantled  tides,  as  they  rush  from  each 

pole, 
Whose  warringshave  shaken  the  thrones  of  the  deep,        ^ 


•f-i 


76 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


Ih/ 


>  y 


Embrace  in  one  lasting  and  mewurelcss  roil 
Andsinlc-with  the  lulling  of  tempest,,  to^Ieep; 

WTiere  Dominion  is  stayed  by  a  cliff.guarded  shore; 
Where  Empire  looks  outfromherheightso'erthe  sea 

AM  not  the  dread  voices  that  nations  deplore, 
But— the  bounding  of  water  that's  free! 
Where  all  that  moves  in  storm  along: 
The  earthquake's  voice-the  torrent's  song 
The  uproar  of  the  skies,  when  Night 
Leads  forth  her  champions  to  the  fight- 
The  elemental  chant~and  roll 
Of  thunders-crowding  to  the  pole- 
Or-.when  the  heaven  is  cloudless-briirht- 
And  hearts  are  sweUing  with  delight,  ' 

And  eyes  are  lifted  cheerfully 
That-o'er  the  blue  and  boundless  sky^ 
Like  some  archangel's  trump  on  high' 
Break  suddenly,  and  fearfullyl 

The  ocean-when  it  roUs  aloud— 
The  tempest-bursting  from  her  cloud. 

In  one  uninterrupted  peal! 
When  darkness  sits  amid  the  sky; 
And  shadowy  forms  go  trooping  by; 
And  everlasting  mountains  reel—* 
All-all  of  this  is  Freedom's  song— 
'Tis  pealed-'tis  pealed  eternally! 
And  all,  that  winds  and  waves  prolong, 
Are  anthems  roUed  to  LiBKBTi! 


r 


BATTLE  OF    NIAGARA. 


7f 


roll, 

>  to  sleep: 

id  shore; 
o'er  the  sea; 
I  that  rear, 
•re, 


iong. 


ht; 


Land  of  the  mountain— and  the  wood— 

The  wonders  of  their  giant  race; 
Creation's  barrier!    Thou  hast  stood 

Upon  thy  lofty  dwelUng  place- 
Unshaken  by  contending  mains, 
That  thundered  in  thy  rocky  chains: 

Immoveably— thy  hills  arise, 
Above  the  clouds  that  gather  there- 
Like  islands  in  the  empty  skies- 
Green  spots,  reveaitd  to  gifted  eyes- 
Amid  the  pale  blue  air: 

Just  like  the  blessed  islets  seen— 

By  Indians— in  the  trance  of  death; 
Peopled  with  naked  girls,  and  green 
With  fresh  and  waving  grass— and  bright 
With  never-ending  sunny  Ught— 

Where  all  the  wind  is  like  the  breath 
Of  Indian  girls  in  chase: 
Where  all  the  leaves  are  glossy; 
And  all  the  seats  are  mossy— 
And  all  about  the  brooks,  are  thrown 
Ten  thousand  wild  flowers^  newly  blown: 

Unyielding  still,  though  oceans  wage 
One  loud— perpetual  war  with  thee: 

And  all  the  elements  engage 
For  ever— round  thy  royalty: 
Enthroned,  thou  sittest  still, 
Upon  thy  loftiest  hill, 


■■ 


l\ 


m 


78  BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 

CoIumbia!_child  of  heaven' 
While  all  the  world  is  thundering  round-- 

To  thee  'tis  given,  . 
To  sit  secure~and  hear  the  sound 

W.V  ^?'^'*"'^''""°""""^~'«  ^heir  rage. 
^  ithm  their  secret  hiding  place 

Toiling  at  thine  eternal  base, 

Home  ofthe  waters!  where  their  strength 
«oIJs  m  immeasurable  length- 

Or  ta.  abUng  from  their  cloudy  thrones/ 

As  thundering  from  a  battJement, 
With  martial  hymning,  like  the  tones 
Of  battle-shout,  by  warriors  sent- 
Go  noting  in  foam  and  spray. 
With  rainbow-streamers  o'er  their  way 

Beneath  the  precipice  they've  rent, ' 
Exulting~as  they  burst  their  cloud-^ 
As  high  ...as  dazzUng-and  as  loud- 

As  sheets  of  light!  in  their  descent 

Thro'  midnight's  parting  firmament! 

Where  such  the  measure  of  the  sky 
That  storms  may  pass  unheeded  by  * 
And  such  the  pilkr'd  strength  of  earth. 

So  strong  its  adamantine  chain, 
That  when  convulsion  finds  a  birth. 
That  birth  is  ever  found  in  vain: 
The  tumult  in  its  weakness  dies, 
Unheeded  by  the  earth  or  skies. 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGAllA. 


79 


Land  of  the  hero,  the  patriot,  and  sage! 

Of  warriors,  whose  deeds  have  unfettered  the  wave. 
Whose  standard  looks  forth   where  the  whirlwinds 
engage, 

And  battles  aloft— In  the  realms  of  the  brave! 
Whose  Genius  came  forth  from  the  home  of  the  flood, 

And  strove  with  the  pirate's  red  banner  on  high, 
'Till  the  foam  of  the  ocean  was  tinged  with  his  blood- 
Tilled  the  air  with  her  rainbows!— and  fearlessly  stood, 

And  loosened  her  eaglets  abroad  o'er  the  sky! 

Of  men,  who  have  fought  with  the  high  Briton  too. 
As  he  sat  on  his  throne  in  his  empire  of  blue;) 
'Till  the  scarlet-crossed  banner  that  majesty  bent. 

Had  faded  and  fled  from  its  home  in  the  sky: 
'Till  its  terrors  went  off",  as  its  splendours  were  rent, 

Like  meteors  that  over  the  firmament  fly, 
And  threw,  as  they  passed  o'er  the  free-rolling  tide,    , 
A  deep  ruddy  tii>t— ^twa^  the  last  bli^sh  of  pride. 

I^and  of  white  bosoms,  and  blue  laughing-eyes!      ' 
j.ike  miniature  pictures  of  transparent  skies. 

Where  young  thoughts,  like  the  blessed,  are  seen; 
May  those  eyes  brighten  quick  at  the  tale  that  I  tell! 
And  O,  if  it  wake  but  one  white  bosom's  swell; 

One  heart  where  dear  feeling  hath  been; 
One  pulse  that  has  throbbed  in  the  still  of  the  night, 
In  the  dream  of  its  soldier  afar  in  the  fight, 

I'm  repaid  for  it  over  and  over: 
And  Columbia  may  wake  when  she  hears  the  loud  strain, 
Eg 


i^ 


80 


,i»l 


BATTLE  OF  NUGAftA. 


And  stoop  o'er  the  grave,  of  her  chUdren  «»i„ 
And  weep  o'er  the  garl»d.  they  wove  her: 

M.y  arise  in  h^^rnrrr!"  T""^"- 

s-bH^eontheheig^^-rSi^rdt:::!'™- 

"^T  ""'.'^  """'*  •'"ft  ^-i  'lone- 

W.th  ttoK  who  are  up  for  tiie  chaplet  of  F«>r 


W 


again, 
r: 

ert, 
wn — 
fnumbert, 


h  claim 
fame. 


Q 


■'-Jh'3" 


CANTO  I. 

£agle troop  of  mounted  Americans  appear dls- 

appear leader.. ...sunset imagery seenagiunonthe 

summi'  c"*he  hill indistinctly descend  and  pass  the 

spectator reflections night cut  their  way  through 

a  small  encampment  of  the  British American  camp... 

midnight  expedition The  time  employed  is  three  days. 


"'<i^<. 
*^*l 


f^. 


jpeai* dis- 

again  on  the 
ind  pass  the 
^ay  through 
:an  camp... 
I  three  days, 


\ 


BATTliE  0¥  NIAGARA, 


CANTO  I. 

THERE'S  a  fierce  gray  Bird — with  a  sharpened  beak; 
With  an  angry  eye,  and  a  startling  shriek. 
That  nurses  her  brood  where  the  clifT-flowers  blow. 
On  the  precipice-top— in  perpetual  snow — 
Where  the  fountains  are  mate,  or  in  secrecy  flow— 
ThA  sits— -vvhere  the  air  is  shrill  and  bleak, 
On  the  splintered  point  of  a  shivered  peak- 
Where  the  weeds  lie  close — and  the  grass  sings  sharp« 
To  a  comfortless  tune— like  a  wintry  harp— 
Bald-heade^l  and  stripped! — like  a  vulture  torn 
In  wind  and  strife! — with  her  feathers  worn. 
And  ruffled  and  stained— 'While  scattering— bright. 
Round  her  serpent-neck— that  is  writhing,  bare — 
Js  a  crimson  collar  of  gleaming  hair!— 
l^iko  the  crest  of  a  warrior  thinned  in  the  fight,  f 

And  shorn-^and  bristling' — see  her!  where 
She  sits  in  the  glow  of  the  sun-bright  air! 
With  wing  half-poised— and  talons  bleeding — 
And  kindling  eye— as  if  her  prey 
Had — 3UC        y— been  snatched  away—. 
While  she  was  tearing  it,  and  feeding! 
E  4 


ii^lNV 


m 


m 


^y 


84 


BATTLK  OF  NIAGARA. 


•   A  BiBD  that  is  first  to  worship  the  sun, 
When  he  gaUops  in  flame-HiU  the  cloud  tides  run 
In  billows  of  fire— as  his  course  is  done. 
Above  where  the  fountain  is  gushing  in  light; 
Above  where  che  torrent  is  forth  In  its  might- 
Like  an  imprisoned  blaze  that  is  Inarsting  from  night! 

Or  a  lion  tha^  springs-with  a  roar-from  his  lair' 
Bounding  off-all  in  foam-from  the  echoing  height- 
Like  a  rank  of  young  war-horses-terribly  bright, 
Their  manes  all  erect!-and  their  huofs  in  the  air!*       " 
The  earth  shaking  under  them— trumi;.et8  on  high— 
And  banners  unfiling  uway  in  the  sky— 
With  the  neighing  ef  steeds!  and  the  streaming  of  hair! 

Above  where  the  silvery  flashing  is  seen— 
The  striping  of  waters,  that  skip  o'er  the  green,      • 
And  soft,  spongy  moss,  where  the  fairies  have  been 
Bending  lovely  and  brght  i„  the  young  Morning's  eye 
Likenbandsof  flarr.e    c>   tat  bow  of  the  sky:  > 

Above  that  dark  torre:u-above  the  bright  stream- 
The  gay  ruddy  fount,  with  the  changeable  gleam. 
Where  the  lustre  of  heaven  eternally  plays— 
The  voice  may  be  heard-of  the  TI:ui  derei's  bird. 
Calling  oui  to  her  god  in  a  clear,  wild  scream. 
As  she  mounts  to  his  throne  and  unfolds  in  his  beam- 
While  her  young  are  laid  out  in  his  rich  red  blaze- 
And  their  winglete  are  fledged  in  his  hottest  raysi 

Prf>ud   BiED  OF  THE  cliff!    where  the   barren-yew 
springs —  "^ 

Where  the  sun  shine  stays~and  the  wind  harp  sings, 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


85 


Where  tlie  heralds  of  battle  sit — pluming  tlieir  wings — 
A  scream!— she's  awake! — over  hill-top  and  flobd; 
A  crimson  light  runs! — like  the  gushing  of  blood- 
Over  valley  and  rock!— over  mountain  and  wood! 
That  Bird  is  abroad— in  the  van  of  her  brood! 

O  ye,  that  afar  in  the  blue-air,  have  heard — 
As  out  of  the  sky — the  approach  of  tliat  Bibd— 
Have  ye  seen  her — half-famished— and  up — and  away — 
Her  wings  in  a  blaze,  with  the  shedding  of  day— 
iiike  a  vulture  on  fire!— in  the  track  of  her  prey- 
When  aloft — what  is  that? — ligh*^  footsteps  near  us! 
And  whispers — and  breathing! — they  may  o'erhear  us. 


n 


Ah— now  let  us  gaze: — what  a  wonderful  sky!— 
How  the  robe  of  the  god,  in  its  flame-coloured  dye — 
Goes  ruddily — flushingly— sweepingly  by. 
The  spots  that  you  see? — they  are  tents— and  the  sdr- 
All  alive  with  the  rustling  of  flags  that  are  there — 
Nay  speak— (Ud  you  ever  behold  such  a  night — 
While  the  winds  blew  about — and  the  waters  were 

bright— 
The  sun  rolling  home  in  an  ocean  of  light — 
But  hush!— there  is  musick  away  in  the  sky- 
Some  creatures  of  maglck  are  '^.harioting  by- 
No  w  it  comesi- what  a  sou:  .d— 'tis  as  cheerful  and 

wild, 
As  the  echo  of  caves  to  the  laugh  of  a  child: 
Ah  yes!— they  are  here — see  away  to  your  left, 
Where  the  sun  has  gone  down— where  the  mountains 

are  cleft — 


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V 


I 


V 


4 


'4 


U 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


A  ^p  of  tall  hor,eme„!-how  ftarie,,  they  Md^' 
Caiecnnff  th«y  come,  like  a  band  of  y„„„»  fc„i„h,- 

It^TT °'  "■""  '"'"=  ™"  -'" 

Of  their  hii  me  WeTi    1  ""^  ?'""?'  and  the  pride 

i-gHtterafdprirrhthetr^'-'^'t"^"''^ 

With  their  scarlet  anH  hlii«  „„  *i    •  e"^"— 

Piashingchan^ah  :  th  like     bT  ^'"'""""  ™''^'''' 
No«.  they  burst  o„  the  ev 71  1        """  ""'"*'"'■     ' 

.      And  now  they  have  tZ-L^T-'^'^'l  "^^^ 
/Tn    o   of         .  ^°"^T-^''^e  a  Vision  of  day 

And  instantly  all  the  bright  ,h„w  was  coneealedl 
As  If  twerea,„„r„aro,nt  held  in  the  sky 
Betrayed  by  so„,e  light  passing  suddenfyhy.) 
Some  band  by  the  flashing  of  toshes  reve^  d 
A-tfeUo'erthebossofanupBftedshieH 
Or  bannersand  bladesin  the  darkness  concealed 
Th  J,"t        a  cloud  thatis passing  the  1^  tf 
Th  tbnghtensand  blazes-ami  lades  from  fhe  si,*- 
Th  y  came  hke  a  dream-and  as  swiftly  they X? 
Astheshadows  that  pass  o'er  the  sun's^gredl 
And  one  hns  returned!  'twas  the  first  of  the  b^rd- 
On  the  top  of  the  cliffhehas  taken  his  sfa'd        ' 
And  dte  tread  of  his  barb,  as  he  leans  in  l::*- 
And  loosen,  lus  mane  in  U,e  flow  of  its  length 

Bedares  be  is  reined  by  a  masterly  hand.    ' 
Whde  he  rears  o'ertl.ericb-roUing  clouds  of  that  heigh. 


Like 
A  wa 
Seel 
Whil 

He 

Gro\ 

The 

And 

Ont^ 

That 

In  a 

Who 

Have 

The 

Itssc 

Intl 

The 

And 

O'er 

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like 

And 

Now 

Your 

The 

Are 

The 

The 


ey  fide! 
in's  side. 
S  knig-hts, 
itcsj 

linj^  veStS; 
red  breasts  J 
the  pride 
'ing  ride 
'  g-old— 
'ons  unfold, 
Polled.     ^ 
rray! 
lay: 
-but  they 

ledf 


led. 
fit, 

'e  sig-hi; 

^ed, 

fed-. 

band,' 

t 


hclg'h* 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA.  87 

like  a  pageant  upraised  by  the  wonders  of  light: 
A  warrior  of  flame!— on  a  courser  of  night! 
See  his  helm  feathers  glance  in  the  clear  setting  sun, 
While  his  sabre  is  forth,  o'er  the  cliff  he  has  won. 
With  a  waving  of  strength,  and  an  air  of  command! 

He  is  gone— and  the  brown,  where  the  sunset  reposes. 
Grows  warm  as  the  bloom  on  the  bosom  of  roses; 
The  herbage  is  crimson'd,  and  sprinkled  with  light; 
And  purple  and  yellow  are  busy  and  bright: 
On  t|ie  precipice-crown,  and  the  sceptre  of  green. 
That  the  forest-tree  heaves,  a  red  lustre  is  seen, 
In  a  wreathing  of  fire:  'tis  a  garland  that  they, 
Whose  blossoms  are  plucked  at  the  closing  of  day. 
Have  dropp'd  from  their  laps  in  their  rioting  play: 
The  summer  leaf  reddens  and  deepens  its  dyes: 
Its  scarlet  and  green  all  unite,  as  it  lies 
In  the  breath  of  the  vapour,  and  hue  of  the  skies: 
The  young  gushing  fount  ripples  tenderly  red; 
And  a  blush,  like  the  sighing  of  blossoms  is  shed, 
O'er  tlie  green  shiny  moss,  that  around  it  is  spread: 
A  glow  like  enchantment  is  seen  o'er  the  lake. 
Like  the  flush  of  the  sky,  when  the  day  heralds  wake. 
And  o'er  its  dull-bosom  their  soft  plumage  shake: 
Now  the  warmth  of  the  heaven  is  fading  away. 
Young  Evening  comes  up  in  pursuit  of  the  Day: 
The  richness  and  mist  of  the  fnts  that  were  there 
Are  melting  away  like  the  bow  of  the  air: 
The  blue-bosom'd  water  heaves  darker  and  bluer: 
The  cliffs  aud  the  trees  are  seen  bolder  and  truer. 


M: 


..-A 


i»«»^-j«.i«aie»k«^>«p«#>»*r     , 


-—"Wf^n^' 


M 


BATTLE  OF  NIA(iARA. 


1  I 


Ih.  landscape  ha»  le., of  enchammcnt  and  Brtt. 
But  t  l,e,  ,hc  „„«  »,e,dy  and  fi™  i„  ,h,  „■  f;'' 
rhe  ,^tre.cr„w„'d  peak,,  „,,,e  the,  daz^.cl.L  eye 
Seen,ed  loosened  and  p..i„^  „„,  ,„  ,,^        =  '^=< 
And     e  <ar.d.tam  l.iMs,  in  .heir  tremulon,  blue 

But  baffled  the  eye,  as  it  dwelt  on  their  hue. 
1  he  l.pht  of  the  hill,  ami  the  wave,  ami  the  ,kv 
Crowfa,„ter,  and f„i„tcr,-,te  wondef!  ^^ 

i-  ea  in  their  change,  like  the  bliss  of  a  dav 

Id  f?"  °" "' "'"''" «- "-' '"  •"-  4i . 

And  fountains  were  misl,;,,™  II        •      .       '^ 
And  seraphs  wer!?r    "^         "'"'  '"  ""  "^'"^ 

A  momentl   Id  d^t      *  T"""" '"  "'^^  «!«'"- 
!•■•■   .1  "      ■"'"  •'"  ""s  envdope.l  i„  „iri,ti 

i.»tl.uswith  the  -Ireamsofthehigh-hcUn. heart 
1  hey  come  but  to  blaze_a„d  they  blaze  to  2,1" 
T  «r  ^ssamer  win^  are  too  thfn  to  abide    ' 
l.ech,llingofsoiTow,orb„r,iii,g„fpride 

The  tent  of  the  Thunderer-the  chariot  of  one. 
Who  dare  not  appear  in  U.e  blaze  of  the  sun"' 
1.S  descending  to  earth!  and  some  horsemen  arc  now 
n  ah„e  of  dark  mist,  comingdown  from  i"  bo"         ' 
ns  a  helme.ed  band!  from  tlie  hills  ,hey  descend 
Uke .he ^onarchscf  «or™,  wh,„  the IbLt trstn^ 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


19 


No  scimitars  swing  as  they  gallop  along: 
No  clattering  hoof  falls  sudden  and  strong: 
No  trumpet  is  filled,  and  no  bugle  is  blown: 
No  banners  abroad  on  the  wind  are  thrown: 
No  shoutings  are  heard— and  no  cheerings  are  given: 
No  waving  of  red-flowing  plumage  to  heaven: 
No  flashing  of  blades,  and  no  loosening  of  reir  s: 
No  neighing  of  steeds,  and  no  tossing  of  manes. 
No  furniture  trailing,  or  Warrior  helms  bowing— 
Or  crimson  and  gold-spotted  drapeiy  flowing; 
But  they  speed  like  coursers,  whose  hoofs  are  shod 
With  a  silent  shoe  from  the  loosened  sod: 
Like  the  steeds  that  career  o*er  the  billowy  surf. 
Or  stretch  like  the  winds  o'er  the  untrodden  turf, 
Where  the  willow  and  yew  in  their  darkness  are  weep- 
ing. 
And  young,  gallant  hearts  in  their  sepulchres  sleeping; 

Like  the  squadrons,  that  on  the  pale  light  of  the  moon. 
While  the  Nights  mufiledhorn  plays  a  low  windy  tune, 
Are  seen  to  come  down  from  the  height  of  the  skies. 
By  the  warrior,  that  on  the  red  battle-field  lies. 
And  wave  their  cloud-helmets,  and  charge  o'er  the  field, 
Andcareer  o'er  the  tracks  where  the  living  had  wheel'd; 
When  the  dying  half  raise  themselves  up  in  a  trance. 
And  gaze  on  the  show,  as  their  thin  banners  glance. 
And  wonder  to  see  the  dread  battle  renewed. 
On  the  turf,  where  themselves  and  their  comrades  had 

stood, 
iiike  these  shadows,  in  swiftness  and  darkness  they  ride 
p'er  the  thunder-reft  mount— on  its  ruggedest  side; 


V. 


k 


.mmm^:^_ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


[2.5 
2.2 


6" 


2.0 


1.8 


14    11.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


Vj- 


% 


V 


fi^ 


<f>^ 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.r.  US80 

(716)  872-4503 


,^ 


w- 


Q. 


90 


BATTLE  OF  MAGARA. 


^"^  U.e  t„o.pice  top,  they  oWe  »d  I..p, 
ut  h   '™™'"  "'*"•  '^  "«  ««  ™  our  steep. 
Th«r  head,  muffled  up  to  their  white  fihny  eye^l      ' 

And XXCe  ^"'"7  '"■'  «'-  '^  -^^  <""■ 
•*^"J'  "»ey  have  gone,  with  a  motionless  sneeri 

The'.^rTr*'  """-•^e-JfuldeT      '  . 
Th^r ^^o^C:;"^^  >»«  aUdisappea.*  . 

For  .tiuTh^  ,k      ""^P"*"  no  longer  m  head, 

Your  he«t  wouM  Ue  .S^  ''°"'"'*"'"^  "^^^ 
So  swiftly-so  mutely-so  darkly  they  went. 

Vourher...ter„in.ti;r:r:^^7J^f'""" 
Passino.  h^   rw        ,  ^ff  *^at  comes  in  the  nic-ht- 

When  ««  would  sweU  ^U^oZyZ  2^^". 

Ifthe«>u„dofo„etr„„petS:;:'';tr''*''""' 
l^ke  «,„e  scarlet.wi„g.d  bird,  that  i,  nun-dta  the  dav 
When  she  shakes  her  ~.^  ..i  '  "  m  ine  day, 

prey.  ^  "^«^*^  ^"  ^^  ^*«r  hep 

For  be  they  the  horsemen  of  earth  nr  «f  i. 
No  blaat  thut  ♦k^  *  '  ^'^  of  heaven, 

^o  blast  that  the  trumpet  of  Slaughter  hath  given, 


It 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


91 


cap, 
f  sleep: 
ng  man  ties 
eyes,— 
*till  he  dies: 
s  speed, 
d. 

leai^d: 
heatd: 
(e  earth, 
inds  birth; 
he  last; 
f  horsemen 


»eir  intentt 
w, 

I  shake, 

ight— 

light; 

Id  appear, 

1  the  day, 
o*er  hep 


i^en, 
Kcnj 


No  roll  of  the  dnuQ-4ind  no  cry  of  the  fife; 
No  neighing  of  steeds  in  the  bloodiest  strife- 
Is  half  so  terrifick  to  full  swelling  hearts. 
As  the  still,  pulseless  tramp  of  a  band  that  departs. 
With  echoless  annour-->with  motionless  plume: 
With  ensigpns  all  furled— in  the  trappings  of  gloom- 
Parading,  like  those  who  came  up  from  the  tomb. 
In  silence  and  darkness— determined  uid  slow; 
And  cLreadfully  calm— as  the  murderer's  brow» 
When  his  dagger  is  forth! — and  ye  see  not  the  blow,' 
'Till  the  gleam  of  the  blade  i^ows  y«ur  heart  in  its  flow! 

O,  say  what  ye  will!— the  dull  sound  that  awakes. 
When  the  night  breeze  is  down,  and  the  chill  spirit 

aches 
With  its  measureless  thought,  is  more  dreadful  by  far. 
Than  the  burst  of  the  trump,  when  it  peals  for  the  war. 
It  is  the  cold  summons  that  comes  from  the  ground. 
When  a  sepulchre  answers  pour  tight,  youthful  bound, 
And  loud  joyous  laugh,  with  its  chill  fearful  sound. 
Compared  to  the  challenge  that  leaps  on  the  ear. 
When  the  banners  of  death  in  their  splendours  appear^ 
And  the  free  golden  bugle  sings  freshly  and  clear! 
The  low,  sullen  moans,  that  so  feebly  awake. 
At  midnigkt->when  one  is  alone— on  some  lake, 
Compar*d  to  the  Thunderer's  voice,  when  it  rolls. 
From  the  bosom  of  space,  to  the  uttermost  poles! 
Like  something  that  stirs  in  the  weight  of  a  shroud—* 
The  talking  of  those  who  go  by  in  a  cloud; 
To  the  cannon's  fuH  voice,  when  it  wanders  aloud! 


■( 


r 


{ 


-""w^^^frnm 


h 


n 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


if. 


:^l 


»Tii  the  light  that  is  seen  to  burst  under  the  wave 

The  pale,  fitful  omen,  that  plays  o'er  a  grave. 
To  the  rushing  of  flame,  where  the  turf  is  all  red. 
And  farewells  are  discharged  o'er  a  young  soldier's  bed! 
To  the  lightnings  that  blaze  o'er  the  mariner's  way. 
When  the  storm  is  in  pomp,  and  the  ocean  in  spray! 

Dark  and  chill  is  the  sky;  and  the  clouds  gather  round; 

There's  nought  to  hp  sp^n,  yp*  fhew.  c.nmt>n  a  low  sound; 

As  if  something  were  near,  that  would  pass  unobserved 

O,  if  'tis  that  bandi— may  their  right-arms  be  nerved! 

Hark!— a  challenge  is  given!— a  rash  charger  neighs! 
And  a  trumpet  is  blown!— and  lo,  there's  a  blaze! 
And  a  plashing  of  sabres  is  heard— and  a  shout. 
Like  a  hurried  ordei^-goes  passing  about! 
And  unfurling  banners  are  tossed  to  the  sky. 
As  struggUng  to  float  on  the  wind  passing  by— 
And  unhamess'd  war-steeds  are  crow^g  together; 
The  horseman's  thick  plume— and  the  foot  soldier's 

feather — 
The  battle  is  up!  and  the  thunder  is  pealing! 
And  squadrons  of  cavahy  coursing  and  wheeling! 
And  line  after  line,  in  their  light  are  revealing! 
One  troop  of  high  helms  thro'  the  fight  urge  their  way. 
Unbroken  and  stem— like  .    Mp  thro'  the  spray: 
Their  pistols  speak  quick—and  their  blades  are  all  bare, 
And  the  sparkles  of  steely  encounter  are  there. 

Away  they  still  speed!— with  one  impulse  they  bound; 
With  one  impulse  alike,  as  their  foes  gather  round. 


;• 


mm 


^^^""""n 


mmmimm 


'W 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


93 


the  wave— 
ive, 

allred^ 
soldier's  bed! 
ler's  way, 
I  in  spray! 

father  round; 
a  low  sound; 
unobserved, 
e  nerved! 
er  neighs! 
blaze! 
out, 

y» 

►y— 
ogether; 
ot  soldier's 


eling! 
igl 

their  way, 
pray: 

re  all  bare, 
re. 

leyboundi 
round. 


Undismayed — ^un^sturbed— and  above  all  the  rest. 
One  rides  o'er  the  strife,  like  a  mane  o'er  its  crest; 
And  holds  on  his  way  thro'  the  scimitars  there. 
All  plunging  in  light!— while  the  slumbering  sur 
Shakes  wide  with  the  rolling  artillery-peal — 
The  tall  one  is  first,  and  his  followers  deal 
Around,  and  around,  their  desperate  blows. 
Like  the  army  of  shadows  above,  when  it  goes 
With  the  smiting  of  shields,  and  the  clapping  of  wings; 
When  the  red-crests  shake — and  the  storm-pipe  sings: 
When  the  cloud-flag  unfurls— and  the  death-bugles 

sound — 
When  the  monarchs  of  space  on  their  dark-chargers 

bound — 
And  the  shock  of  theit  cavalry  comes  in  the  night. 
With  furniture  flashing!— 'and  weapons  of  light! — 
So  travelled  this  band  in  its  pomp  and  its  might. 

Away  they  have  gone!--and  th(  Ir  path  is  all  red. 
Hedged  in  by  two  lines  of  the  dying  and  dead; 
By  bosoms,  that  burst  unrevenged  in  the  strife — 
By  swords,  that  yet  shake  in  the  passing  of  life — 
For  so  swift  had  that  pageant  of  darkness  sped— 
So  like  a  trooping  of  cloud-mounted  dead — 
That  the  flashing  reply  of  the  foe  that  was  cleft. 
But  fell  on  the  shadows  those  troopers  had  left- 
Far  and  away,  tliey  are  coursing  again. 
O'er  ^  clouded  hill,  and  the  darkened  plain. 
Now  choosing  the  turf  for  their  noiseless  route; 
Now,  where  the  wet  sand  is  strown  thickest  about, 
F 


\ 


w^amtfffr'Tsmm 


H 


BATTLE  OP  mXGAUJk 


Streams  their  long  line!-like  a  mist  troop  they  ride, 
In  a  winding  cloud,  o'er  the  near  mountain's  side; 
WhUe  a  struggling  moon  throws  a  lustre  as  dim  ' 
As  a  sepulchre's  lamp,  andthe  vapours  that  swim. 
O'er  the  hiUs  and  the  heavens,  divide  as  they  fly:-. 
The  videttes  of  winds  that  are  stationed  on  high! 

Speak-would  you  know  why  woke  that  desperate 
fray? 

Why  battle  moved  in  night,  and  shunned  the  day? 
And  who  the  leader  of  that  sulten  band. 
Whose  march  was  destiny ?-whose  sterli  command 
Went  thrilling  to  the  heart:-while  not  a  word 
He  uttere^d  in  his  march-and  nought  was  heard 
But  the  deep,  dreadful  sound,  of  hearts  that  bun^t- 
Of  arms  that  smote  in  death,  and  lips  that  cursed? 
Who  gave  no  cheering  to  his  troops-aa  they 
Wheeled-.charged-andsmote~an4gallopped  in  ar- 

But  shook  his  naked  falchion  in  his  might. 

And  scattered  o'er  his  path  its  meteor  light? 
Then,  like  the  bolt  of  heaven,  it  flash'd,  and  fell 
On  blades  and  helms,  tliat  shattered  in  theu-  knell' 
How  firm  and  high  he  satl-all  bone-aU  strength-. 
His  charger  stretching  at  his  utmost  length! 

'TIs  lighter  now:  the  troops  are  seen  agaUi, 
rassmg  at  length  before  a  tented  plain- 
The  moon  is  up,  and  brightening  o'er  tlieirroaf 
Their  steeds  come  bravely  round  beneath  their  load 
And  slacken  to  a  tro^-and  snorting  loudlv 

Strain  their  darknecks,  with  far  manesflo^tingproudly 


_jj^^iyiLu^^^ 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


9$ 


sey  ride, 
side; 
[im 
wim, 
fly:— 
gb! 

desperate 
day? 

iinand 

rd 

ard,  » 

>ur8t— . 

led? 

r 

ted  in  ar- 


nell! 
ngth— 


ain 
:ir  load, 

proudly; 


Thickening  their  tramps  approach— they  n«.ar  the  blaze 
Ot*  Freedom's  camp,  where  her  loose  drapery  plays- 
Breaking  in  lustre — thick  with  starry  light; 
And  crimson  stripes  opposed  to  glcamy  ^^hite: 
Symbols  of  battle  and  of  peace— the  dye 
Of  blood— and  flash  ot  lilied  purity: 

The  leader  halts— the  broad  red  light  shows  well 
His  stately  outline,  and  his  charger's  swell. 
How  like  a  shade  the  horse  and  rider  seem! 
like  the  dark  trooper  of  a  troubled  dream. 
His  sabre  is  abroad-  -they  gather  round- 
Back!— back  it  waves!— and  hark!-- <the  bugles  sound: 
Swiftly  be  wheels!— ilus  arm  is  stretched  again- 
Some  gather  round,  and  some  behind  remsun: 
Forth,  and  all  free!  a  chosen  escort  spring; 
Unsheath  their  hangers,  while  their  scabbards  ring: 
Leap  to  their  places,  and  at  speed  depart, 
While  the  rough  trumpets  on  the  nightpwind  start; 
Away  they  stretch  at  length!  as  when  they've  met 
In  chase  upon  the  mountain-tops,  while  yet 
The  morning  gems  are  thick,  and  all  the  turf  is  wet. 

Again  they  stay  their  mai^ch— and  one's  ahead; 
His  fire-eyed  charger  halts  with  angry  tread; 
His  black  limbs  bathed  in  foam— his  reaching  mane, 
Rising  and  sinking,  as  he  feels  the  rein: 
Now<!ring«  the  harness!— from  the  saddle,  bounds 
The  red-plumed  chief —erect,  and  lightly  sounds 
A  free-toned  bugle  to  the  distant  hills; 
Singing  and  pealing  clear— like  horn  that  Echp  fills; 


Vi     11 


^4 


I 


■  •■  • ' 

f  n 

t*'"" 

M 

■.M//M 

1 

.  -jiM^^^ 

m..  ,si\,j,mm^. 


■  ^1.  .mtu 


96 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


And  oW— an  answer!— how  it  faintly  dies 
In  sweet,  calm  melody  along  the  skies, 
As  if  it  were  a  challenge  lightly  given, 
From  golden  trumpets  on  a  summer  even! 
Now  springing  merrily  upon  the  ear, 
As  if  some  infant  trumpeter  were  near- 
Like  songs  ye  hear  at  evening  o'er  the  main- 
Like  bells  upon  the  wind— that  come  and  go  again. 

*Halt  here!'  the  chieftain  said— «halt  here  awhile:' 
His  cheek  burned  deeper— and  a  soldier  smile 
Played  sternly  o'er  his  features,  as  he  laid, 
His  martial  hand  upon  his  rattling  blade, 
And  gathered  up  his  cloak,  and  strode  amid  the  shade. 


igain. 
I'hile:'' 


bte  shade. 


P2. 


^«j  ■  ""• 


'nwi"WIM^ 


,f-  3 


f 


1, 


CANTO  n. 


The  hrat  night  conUnue,  through  the  whole  of  thU 
c.nto....O„tanode,cribed Appear,„ce,,...Beflecti„„, 

Apollo  ...teorrupuon  and  refinement He«>  .ppe.„.. 

miiy... .description. 


'-¥', 


BATTlil.  0¥  JflAGARA. 


i     ' 


»le  of  this 
eflections 

Indian 

ppears 

'its  his  fa. 


CANTO  11. 

COME,  sit  thou  with  me!— what  a  keavenly  nightl 
The  winds  blowing  fresh— and  the  beautiful  light 

Shedding  out  such  a  luminous  dampness  above!— 
So  respectful  and  stiU:— and  the  scenery  thercr- 
How  it  moves  up  and  down  in  the  dim,  holy  air! 

»Tis  a  midnight  of  awe— and  a  sabbath  of  love. 
O  lift  up  thine  eyes-  see  the  firmament  spreiiding 

A  moveable  vault  of  the  deepest  of  blue- 
Boiling  on— roUing  on-through  infinity-sliedding 
Forever— its  oceans  of  lustre  and  dew. 

Come,  sit  thou  with  me!...we  shall  both  lewrn  to  feel. 
Like  the  men  of  old  times-when  Jehova'n  was  near- 
Come,  sit  thou  with  me!-and  together  we'll  kneel. 
And  pour  out  our  hearts  to  the  God  that  s  here. 
And  the  breezes  that  come-and  the  brarK.hes  that  bow- 
To  the  clouds  traiUng  by-they  shall  all  teach  us  how. 
In  past  years,  when  tliese  woods  started  ftTcen  from  the 

And  that  sho're-and  this  hiU-and  that  water  had  birth. 
Their  inhabitants  held  their  communion  with  heaven— 
In  worship  and  trembling— Uke  childf  »'n  forgiven— 
•  F  3 


loo- 


B4  rTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


How  they  knelt  d  jwn  alone,  while  the  whole  world  slept. 
Their  hearts  ov  irburthened  with  pleasure— and  wept. 


Here  sleeps  Oittahio.    Old  Ontario,  hail! 
Unawed  by  c<  nquering  prow,  or  pirate  sail: 
Still  heaving  in  thy  freedom— still  unchained— 
Still  swellin  ,'  to  the  skies— still  unprofaned— 
As  when  tb  /  earliest,  freest  children  flew 
Like  hawK  j  to  battle— when  the  swift  canoe — 
From  cvf  ry  shore,  went  dipping  o'er  the  tide- 
Like  bir  iS,  that  stooping  from  the  far  cliff  ride— 
A  mom  nt  on  the  billow— shriek  and  rise, 
With  1  /aded  talons  wheeling  to  the  skies. 
The  b  saven's  blue  counterpart!— the  murmuring  home 
Of  sp  ,rits  shipwrecked  in  the  ocean-foam— 
Refl  ictor  of  the  arch  that's  o'er  thee  bent; 
Th(  u  watery  sky! — thou  liquid  firmament! 
Mi  Tor  of  garland-weaving  Solitude — 
Tie  wild  festoon— the  cliff— the  hanging  wood— 
T  le  soaring  eagle— and  the  wing  of  light — 
1  ne  sunny  plumage— and  the  starry  flight 
(  f  dazzling  myriads  in  a  cloudless  night. 

Peace  to  thy  bosom,  dark  Ontario! 
Tor  ever  thus,  may  thy  free  waters  flow, 
In  their  rude  loveUness!— thy  lonely  shore 
For  ever  echo  to  the  sullen  roar 
Of  thine  own  deep!  thy  cliffs  for  ever  ring 
With  calling  wild  men,  in  their  journeying— 
The  savage  chant— the  panther's  smothered  cry- 
That,  from  her  aii-y  height,  goes  thrilling  by! 
Be  ever  thus— as  now — magnificent — 


'  world  slept. 

:--and 

wept. 

1 

1: 

ed— 

1- 

)e — 

•m 

tide— 

ride— 

imring 

honws 

wood— 


sd  cry 
by! 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA 


101 


In  savage  Nature's  pomp— unbowed— unbent, 
And  thou  wilt  ever  be  omnipotent! 

Be  ever  unapproachable — and  free: 
The  home  of  Indians  and  of  liberty.— 
But  let  thy  woods  be  bowed— their  sceptres  shorn; 
Thy  blooming  streamers  from  thy  ramparts  torn; 
Thy  fountains  hushed— and  the  luxuriant  green  > 

Of  oozy  turf,  that  o'er  thy  haunt  'w-  seen. 
Be  trampled  on  and  opened  to  the  sun— 
And  all  thy  rich  exuberance  is  done: 
Let  but  the  white  man's  summons  once  be  heard. 
And  gone,  for  ever,  is  thy  guardian  Bird; 
Be  once  thy  torrents  stilled~the  shiny  mois. 
Thy  grotto-hangings,  that  the  dews  emboss; 
Thy  guttering  halls  laid  open  to  the  light— 
Thy  mysteries  revealed  to  the  unholy  sight: 
Thy  secret  places  to  the  sun  betrayed; 
And,  in  thy  temples,  men  of  blood  arrayedj 
The  curtain  of  thy  sanctuary  rent— 
Thy  dwellings  opened  to  the  firmament; 
Thy  solitudes  ^sturbed— thine  altars  stained: 
Thy  heights  polluted,-  and  thy  depths  profaned 
With  Indian  blood,  and  thy  dark  offspring  chained: 
Thy  battlements  of  rocks,  and  cliffs,  and  clouds — 
Stripped  of  their  garland  flags,  and  hung  with  shrouds, 
And  bright  with  glittering  spires:  thine  altars  down — 
Then  what  art  thoui*  and  where  thy  thronesP  and  crown? 
Thy  sceptres?  and  thy  hosts? — for  ever  gone! 
And  thou— a  savage  in  the  world!—  alone: 
A  naked  monarc^— sullen,  stem,  and  rude. 
Amid  a  robed  and  plumed  multitude: 
F  4 


1^ 


•) 


■>; 


I 


>f^ 


W""    .■..*•■* 


^^if^<^mm 


^II 


1U2 


BATTtE  OP  NIAGARA. 


I ! 


'f 


Sublime  and  motionless— but  impotent- 
Stripped  of  his  an'ows,  and  with  boM  unbent. 
Who  feels  that  terror  of  the  Indian  then. 
Such  m  he  felt  in  night  and  darkness,  when 
That  Indian  walked  alone,  the  conqueror  of  men? 

True,  he  may  walk  with  his  own  fearless  tread; 
With  out-stretched  arm,  and  high  uplifted  head. 
Of  one  familiar  with  the  pathless  wood. 
The  cavemed  chase,  the  haunts  of  solitude— 
The  midnight  storm— the  thunder-clap— and  sleep 
On  jutting  cliff— above  a  tumbling  deep: 
But  wherp  will  bs  that  reverential  dread. 
That  hung  upon  the  wi'd  man,  in  his  tread 
Within  his  own  dominions?— it  is  gone!— 
And  he  stands  there  undi^aded  and  alone: 

Such  vere  tliy  chUdren—Indian  princes— now 
Sach  stajids  subdued— with  yet  a  monarch's  brow. 
But  rend  him  from  his  home,  and  place  him  where 
The  heaven's  bright  blue  is  hidden—and  the  air 
Breathes  thick  with  pestilence— and  th,-re  he  dies. 
With  few  to  fear  and  none  to  sympathize. 

Reijtlik?  the  midnight.  Mighty  One!— and  throw- 
Thy  shadow  o'er  thy  cMldren  of  the  bow: 
Who,  in  the  wilderness,  c-rx  calmly  go 
To  do  their  worship  in  a  lonely  place. 
By  «ltars  reeking  with  the  she-wolfs  trace: 
And  gaze  intrepidly  upon  the  skies, 
WbUe  the  red  lightning  in  itu  anger  flies— 


m 


MW^-. 


BATTLE  OF  ^rIAGARA. 


103 


When  white  men,  in  their  terror,  c^ose  their  eyes: 

For  man  is  there  sublime — he  is  a  god! 

Great  Nature's  master-piece!  like  him  who  trod 

The  banks  of  paradise,  and  stood  alone. 

The  wonder  of  the  skies— erect  upon  his  throne. 

Not  like  tlifi  airy  god  of  moiJaed  light. 
Just  stepping  from  his  chariot  on  the  sight} 
Poising  his  beauties  on  a  rolling  cloud. 
With  arm  outstretched  and  bow-string  twanging  loud: 
And  arrows  singing  as  they  pierce  the  air. 
With  tinkling  sandals,  ^nd  with  flaming  hair; 
As  if  he  paused  upon  his  bounding  way,  ^ 
And  loosened  his  fierce  arrows — all  in  play; 
But  lik^  that  angry  god,  in  blazing  light 
Bursting  from  space!  and  standing  in  hib  might: 
Revealed  in  his  omnipotent  array — 
Apollo  of  tlie  skies!  and  Deity  of  Day! 
In  god-like  wrath!  piercing  his  myriad-foe 
With  quenchless  shafts,  that  lighten  as  they  go: 
Not  like  that  god,  when  up  in  air  he  springs. 
With  brightening  mantle,  and  with  sunny  wings, 
W'aen  heavenly  musick  murmurs  from  his  strings— 
A  buoyant  vision— an  embodied  dream 
Of  daiiity  Poesy— and  boyishly  supreme: 

Not  the  thin  spirit  waked  by  young  Desire, 
Gazing  o'er  heaven  till  her  thoughts  take  fire: 
Panting  and  breathless  in  her  heart's  wild  trance- 
aright,  shapeless  forms -the  godlings  of  Romance; 
Not  that  Apollo— not  resembling  him. 
Of  i/ilver  bow,  and  woman's  nerveless  limb: 


■\ 


ti 


{''■• 
,.ii 


li 


104 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


n 


But  man!— all  man! -the  monarch  of  the  wild! 
Not  the  faint  spirit  that  corrupting  smil'd 
On  soft,  lascivious  Greece— but  Nature's  child. 
Arrested  in  the  chase!  with  piercing  eye 
Pix'd  in  its  airy  lightning  on  the  sky. 
Where  some  red  Bird  goes  languid,  eddying,  drooping, 
Pierced  by  his  arrows  hi  her  swittest  stooping! 
Thus  springing  to  the  skies!-a  boy  will  stand 
With  arms  uplifted  and  unconscious  hand 
Tracing  his  arrow  in  its  loftiest  flight— 
And  watch  it  kindling,  as  it  cleaves  the  light 
Of  worlds  unseen,  but  by  the  Indian  sight; 
His  robe  and  hair  upon  the  wind  at  length, 
A  creature  of  the  hills!-all  gn^ce  and  strengtli; 
All  muscle  and  all  flame— his  eager  eye 
Fixed  on  one- spot,  as  if  he  could  descry 
His  bleeding  victim  nestUngin  the  sky. 
Not  that  Apollo!— not  the  heavenly  one. 
Voluptuous  spirit  of  a  setting  sun,— 
But  this-the  offspring  of  young  Solitude, 
Child  of  the  holy  spot,  where  none  intrude 
But  genii  of  the  torrent— cliff;  and  wood- 
Nurslings  of  cloud  and  storm-the  desert's  fiery  brood. 

Great  Nature's  man!— and  not  a  thing— all  light: 
Etherial  vision  of  distempered  sight; 
But  mingled  cloud  and  sunshine-flame  and  night. 
With  arrows— not  like  his  of  sport— that  go 
In  light  and  musick  from  a  silver  bow: 
But  barbed  with  flint— with  feather— reeking  red. 
The  heart-blood  that  some  famished  wolf  hath  shed! 


^ 


,s     li 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


im 


I! 
drooping", 


h; 


ry  brood. 

ight: 

ight. 


e'd, 
shed! 


Thou  home  of  gallawt  men— Ontario-—  « 

I  would,  but  cannot  leave  thee-i  would  go, 
But  thy  great  spirit  holds  me — may  no  ^l 
Ever  unfold agiwnst  thy  mountain  gale! 
Thy  waters  were  thus  spread  in  cloudy  blue. 
But  for  thy  white  fowl  and  the  hght  canoe. 
Should  once  the  smooth  dark  lustre  of  thy  breast 
With  mightier  burthens,  ever  be  oppressed- 
Farewell  to  th?e!  and  all  thy  loveliness! 
Commerce  will  rear  her  arks— and  Nature's  dress 
Be  scattered  to  the  winds:  thy  shores  will  bloom. 
Like  dying  flow'rets  sprinkled  o'er  i  tomb: 
The  feverish,  fleeting  lustre  of  the  flowers, 
Burnt  into  life  in  Art's  unnatural  bowers; 
Not  the  green—graceful — wild  luxuriance 
Of  Nature's  garlands,  in  their  negligencei 
The  clambering  jasmine,  and  the  flushing  rose 
That  in  the  wilderness  their  hearts  disclose; 
The  dewy  violet,  and  the  bud  of  gold. 
Where  drooping  UUes  on  the  wave  unfold; 
Where  nameless  flowers  hang  fainting  on  the  air, 
As  if  they  breathed  their  lovely  spirit*  there; 
Where  heaven  itself  is  bluer,  and  the  light 
Is  but  a  coloured  fragrance — floating— bright; 
Where  the  sharp  note— and  whisthngsong  is  heard. 
Of  many  a  golden  beak,  and  sunny  sparkling  bird: 

There  the  tame  honeysuckle  will  arise; 
The  gaudy  hot-house  plant  will  spread  its  dyes. 
In  flaunting  boldness  to  the  sunny  skie?: 


1  i 

,  f 

1 

f  ' 


^■P 


106 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA, 


m  ' 


And  aickly  buds,  as  soon  as  blown,  wUI  shed 
Their  fainting  leaves  o'er  their  untimely  bed; 
Unnatural  violets  in  the  blaze  appear— 
With  hearts  unwet  by  youthful  Flora's  tear; 
And  the  loose  poppy  with  its  sleepy  death,* 
And  flashy  leaf:  the  warm  and  torpid  breath 
Of  lazy  garlands,  over  crawling  vines; 
The  tawdry  wreath  that  Fashion  intertwines. 
To  deck  her  languid  brow:  the  streamy  gold. 
And  purple  flushing  of  the  tulip's  fold; 
And  velvet  buds,  of  crimson,  and  of  blue. 
Unchangeable  and  lifeless,  as  the  hiie 
Of  F^hion's  gaudy  wreaths,  that  ne'er  were  wet  with 
'    dew. 

Such  flowrs  as  travellers  would  not  stop  to  bless, 

Tho'  seen  by  fountains  in  the  wilderness: 

Such  heartless  flowers,  as  Love  would  disavow; 

And  blooming  Flora,  if  upon  her  brow 

Their  leaves  had  once  been  dropped,  would  feel  as  tho' 

Pollution's  lips  were  pressed  upon  its  snow; 

Not  the  white  blossom,  that  beneath  its  green 

And  glossy  shelter,  like  a  star  is  seen; 

Shrinking  and  closing  from  the  beam  of  day— 

A  virgin  flow'ret  for  the  twilight  ray; 

Not  the  blue  hare-bell,  swelling  o'er  the  ground, 

And  thinly  echoing  to  the  fairy  bound 

Of  tripping  feet,  witliin  its  sUky  round: 

Not  the  wild  snow-leaf  trembling  to  the  moon. 

But  the  tame  sun-flower  basking  in  the  noon. 


!11 


led; 

r; 
th 

)ld. 


ere  wet  with 
'  to  bless, 

VOW; 

1  feel  as  tho' 
en 


ound. 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


107 


n, 
1. 


Where  now  red  Summer,  in  her  sporting,  weaves 
her  brightest  blossoms  with  her  greenest  leaves; 
Where  the  wUd  grape  hangs  dropping  in  the  shade, 
O'er  unfledged  minstrels,  that  beneath  are  laid: 
Where  all  is  fragrant,  breathing  negligence; 
And  Nature's  budding  child,  sweet  Innocence; 
Where  now  her  treasures,  and  her  mysteries- 
Like  shrouded  diamonds— or  Uke  sleeping  eyes, 
Are  only  seen  by  those,  who  kneel  and  take 
Their  first  bright  beaming,  when  they  first  awake: 
Where  now,  fresh  streamlets  answer  to  the  hues 
Of  passing  seraph- wings— and  fiery  dews. 
Hang  thick  on  every  bush,  when  morning  wakes. 
Like  sprinkled  flame;  and  all  the  green-wood  shakes 
With  liquid  jewelry,  that  Night  hath  flung 
Open  her  favourite  tresses,  while  they  swung, 
And  wantoned  in  the  wind— henceforth  will  be 
No  lighted  dimness,  such  as  tliat  you  see. 
In  yonder  faint,  mysterious  scenery, 
Where  all  the  woods  keep  festival— and  seem 
Beneath  the  midnight  sky— and  meUow  Beam 
Of  yonder  breathing  light  -  as  if  they  were 
Branches  and  leaves  of  unembodied  air: 
Where  fountains  sing  and  sparkle  to  the  skies. 
In  all  their  sweetest  desert  melodies— 
The  prisoned  water  will  be  made  to  play 
In  one  eternal  glitter  to  the  day: 
Unnatural  freshness— arbours  will  be  seen— 
And  tortured  festoons  offantastick  green: 
The  heavy  grotto— and  the  loaded  bower: 


}08 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


m 


The  green  and  tepid  pond;  the  pale  walLflower; 
The  tasteless  mingling  of  the  savage  pine 
With  the  bright  tendrUs  of  the  garden  vine: 
The  stooping  wiUow,  with  its  braided  light. 
And  feathery  tresses,  changeable  and  bright- 
The  a,ry  mountain  ash~the  elm-and  oak 
Rising  triun^phant  from  the  Thunderer's  stroke;^ 
In  all  their  rich  e^ubei-ance,  shooting  out 
Their  restless  sceptres,  to  the  windsabout. 
The  lordly  monarchs  of  the  vigorous  wood! 

■  IraD l"";  ^«-^""f   -P«tart,pop,ar  broods 
And  aUthe  foppery  of  silly  Taste, 

That  grieves  to  see  wUd  Nature  so  unchaste 
That+.in  her  modesty—would  barely  hint 
'That  such  and  such  a  shade,  and  such  a  tint 
'Might  mingle  better,  if  a  little  care- 
'A  little  grouping  here-*nd  contrast  there, 
'Were  just  to-.but no  matter,»-they  all  know 
Better  than  Nature,  how  her  flowers  should  blow- 
How  her  sweet  birds  should  sing  and  fountains  iow- 
And  where  her  trees  should  sUnd-her  cliffs  shoTdd 
•    use, 

In  scattered  pointings  to  the  glorious  skies. 

Leave  such  cold  bosoms,  Nature!  to  their  fate- 

And  be  thou  grand-luxuriant-desolate- 

As  ,t  best  pleaseth  thee.    These  wretched  fools 

Would  have  Creation  work  by  lines  and  rules. 

rheirs  .s  the  destiny-be  theirs  thp  curse. 

In  therr  improvements  still-to  mount  from  bad  to 


.k:   i. 


BATTLBT  OP  NIAGARA. 


109 


lower; 
e: 

[it:— 
:roke;-~ 


1! 
rood— . 

9te, 


■» 

low 
i  blow; 
itains  flow~ 
;liffs  should 


te; 

fools 

les, 

^m  bad  to 

* 


Be  ever  thus  thou  Wilderness!  be  wild 
In  tliine  own  nakedness — young  Nature's  child! 
Still  hang  her  testoond  o'er  thy  glittering  caves: 
Still  far  from  thee  the  pageantry  of  slaves! 
The  dull  cold  blooming  of  the  lifeless  wreaths. 
Plucked  from  the  garden  where  Oppression  breathes: 
The  misty  poison  of  the  sultry  flowers. 
That  shed  their  sleep  in  artificial  bowers: 
May  Architecture  never  rear  her  spires. 
Or  swell  her  domes  to  thy  warm  nmset  fires; 
Where  now,  o'er  verdant  pyramids  and  pines, 
And  dark  green  crowns,  the  crimson  lustre  shines! 
Enough  has  now  been  done— thou  art  but  free: 
Art  but  a  refuge  now  for  Liberty — 
E'en  now  the  wakening  thun^pr  sometimes  roars 
Above  thy  proticrate  oaks— the  guardians  of  thy  shores 

Roll  not  thy  waves  in  light,  Ontario!! 
For  ever  darkly  may  thy  waters  flow!— 
Through  thy  tall  shores  and  blooming  solitudes, 
Sacred  to  loneliness— and  caves— and  woods: — 
Roll  not  thy  waves  in  light— or  thou  wilt  see 
Their  bosoms  heave  no  longer  darkly  free: 
But  whitening  into  foam  beneath  their  load, 
While  Commerce  ploughs  upon  her  flashing  road; 
And  thou  mayest  stand,  and  hearken  to  the  cry 
.Of  thy  young  genii  mounting  to  the  sky: 
And  feel  the  fanning  of  the  last  free  wing, 
That's  shaken  o'er  thy  brow,  as  it  goes  wandering: 
And  Usten  to  the  loud,  tumultuous  roar 
Of  martial  thunders  Echoing  from  thy  shore; 


'  i 


i'i 


110 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA! 


And  thou—thy  ramparts,  cliffs,  and  citadels. 
Where  now  Sublimity,  with  Freedom,  dwells, 
Will  see  thy  conquerors  on  thy  mountains  rise, 
W  ith  glittering  banners  rustling  in  the  skies; 
And  see  their  streamers  flash,  and  hear  the  song 
Of  victory  o'er  thee,  go  pealingly  along. 

Hail,  sleepless  monarch!    Old  Ontario! 

Thou,  of  the  woods,  and  of  the  Indian  bow, 

I  see  thy  glories  in  their  dark  blue  flow! 

A  lake  of  wonders!— where  the  stars  appear 

In  the  fair  deep,  more  luminous  and  clear; 

For  their  confusion!    All  tliy  dim  shores  lie 

In  moonlight's  sleepy,  soft  tranquillity. 

The  air  is  cool,  but  motionless;  about 

Is  something  of  enchantment,  awe  ai,d  doubt-.. 

As  in  the  fleeting  scenery  of  a  dream. 

When  landscapes  come—and  vanish!— like  the  beam 

That  blue  voluptuous  eyes  emit  in  tears. 

That  trembles— brightens— fades,  and  disappears! 

Something  mysterious— holy— like  the  air 

Of  caverns,  when  some  spirit  has  been  there; 

While  yet  tlie  breathing'incense  that  was  shed. 

Is  faint  and  floating  round,  like  sighings  o'er  the  dead. 

No  sound  is  on  the  ear:  ho  boatman's  oar 
Drops  its  dull  signal  to  the  watchful  shore: 
But  all  is  listening,  as  it  were,  to  hear 
Some  seraph  harper  stooping  from  her  sphere. 
And  calling  on  the  desert  to  express. 
Its  sense  of  Silence  in  her  loveliness. 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


in 


lis, 

ise, 

S; 

song 


it— i< 

lie  beam 


sears! 


'  the  dead. 


Vfhtt  holy  dreaming  comes  in  nights  like  these! 

When,  like  yon  wave— unruffled  by  a  breeze, 

The  mirrors  of  the  memory  all  are  spread, 

And  fanning  pinions  sail  around  your  head: 

When  all  that  man  may  love -alive  or  dead. 

Come  murmuring  sweet,  unutterable  things. 

And  nestle  on  his  heart  with  their  yuung  wings: 

And  all  perchance  may  come,  that  he  may  fear. 

And  mutter  doubtful  curses  in  his  ear: 

Hang  on  his  loaded  soul,  and  fill  his  br^in 

With  indistinct  forbodings,  dim—  and  vain— 

Who  has  not  felt  the  unexpected  tear? 

Who'has  not  shaken  with  an  awful  fear. 

When,  in  the  wilderness— alone— he  trod— 

Where,  since  there  walked  the  Everlasting  God— 

Xo  living  foot  hath  beenP  where  boundless  woods-r- 

Where  sanctuaries— waters— solitudes — 

In  dreadful  stillness — vaulted  round— are  spread, 

Lake  some  appointed  place— for  judgment  on  the  dead. 

The  moon  goes  lightly  up  her  thronging  way, 
An4  shadowy  thingps  are  brightening  into  day's 
And  cliff,  and  shrub,  and  bank,  and  tree,  and  stone, 
Now  move  upon  the  eye — and  now  are  gone! 
A  dazzling  tapestry  is  hung  around:  ^ 

A  gorgeous  carpeting  bestrews  tlie  ground; 
The  wallows  glitter  in  the  passing  beam, 
And  shake  their  tangling  lustres  o'er  tlie  stream: 
And  all  the  full,  rich  folis^e  of  the  shore,         t 
Seems  with  ?i  quick  enchantment  frosted  o'er; 
G 


■,-*       ; 


T 


n  5 


1 


112 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


And  (knees  at  the  faintest  breath  of  night, 

And  trembles  like  a  plume  of  spangles  in  the  light. 

Far  o'er  the  slumbering  wave,  amid  the  shade. 
Millions  of  dancing  lights  are  thick  arrayed; 
And  interposing  forms  are  seen  to  go. 
With  ceaseless  step,  unwearied,  firm  and  slow- 
In  measured  walking,  like  a  cavalcade 

As  if  a  band  were  marshalled  for  parade 

Before  a  line  of  fire,  that  redly  throws  * 

A  glimmering  richness,  where  that  billow  flows. 
And  some  yet  feebler  lights  are  o'er  the  turf. 
Like  sea  foam  brightening  faintly  o'er  the  surf.. 
There,  Pestilence  hath  breathed!  within  each  tent 
the  midnight  bow,  with  quenchless  shaft—is  bent; 
And  many  a  youthful  hero  wastes  away. 
In  that— the  worst  of  deaths— the  death  of  slow  decay. 

This  dark,  cool  wave  is  bluer  than  the  deep. 
Where  sailors— children  of  the  tempestl-sleep; 
And  dropped  with  lights  as  pure— as  sUll  as  those—     • 
The  wide-drawn  hangings  of  the  skies  disclose. 
Far  lovelier  than  the  dim  and  broken  ray. 
That  Ocean's  flashing  surges  send  astray; 
And  when  the  foam  comes  loosely  o'er  its  breast, 
The  sea-maid's  bosom  with  its  studded  vest. 
That  mightier  billows  bear,  is  dark— is  dull. 
To  this  light  silvery  spray,  so  beautiful! 
This  is  the  mirror  of  dim  Solitude,  * 

On  which  unholy  things  may  ne'er  intrude; 
That  frowns  and  ruflies  when  the  clouds  appear, 
Refusing  to  reflect  their  shapes  of  fear; 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


113 


Ontario's  deeps  are  spread  to  multiply 
But  sunshine— stars— the  moon— and  clear-blue  sky. 
The  ocer.n-when  at  peace-is  but  the  place 
Wliere  those  who  rule  the  tempest— dwell  in  spacer- 
Direct  the  thunder— rock  the  established  hill— 
And  steadfast  shore, -whose  countless  myriads  fill 
All  heaven  and  earth—and  air-are  wont  to  dwell, 
And  calm  themselves  to  sleep  upon  its  boundless  sweU. 

No  pirate  barque  was  ever  seen  to  rid«, 
With  blood-red  streamer,  chasing  o'er  that  tide; 
'Till  late,  no  bugle  o'er  those  waters  sang 
With  aught  but  huntsman's  orisons,  that  rang 
Their  clear— exulting— bold— triumphant  strain, 
'Till  all  the  mountain  echoes  laughed  again! 
'Till  caverns,  depths,  and  hills,  would  all  reply. 
And  heav'n's  blue  dome  ring  out  the  sprightly  melody. 

Within  those  depths  no  shipwrecked  sailor  lies, 
Upon  his  foaming  couch;  whose  dying  eyes 
Were  closed  amid  the  storm- with  no  one  near. 
To  grasp  his  hand,  or  drop  the  manly  tear: 
With  not  one  friend— one  shipmate  left  to  tell, 
As  'tis  in  strife— how  gJjUantly  he  fell. 
Not  one  to  tell  the  melancholy  tale. 
To  her  whose  heart  i^  on  the  rising  gale. 
Within  that  peaceful  sanctuary  sleep 
No  victim  wanderers  of  the  mighty  deep; 
No  ocean-wreaths  are  there— no  diadems. 
Of  bloody  sea-weed,  sprinkled  o'er  with  gems. 
That  vanish  when  ye  touch  them,  like  the  pearl 
'^hat  gMers  on  the  sea-mwd's  shining  curl} 


'Ij 


'f     ■ 


^ 


I 


f 


If    I 


lii 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


No  wreck,  of  .hiught^n^flag.  in  battle  mt, 

By  Victoor  «:attered  in  the  firmament: 

Not  one  of  aU  tho.e  trophies  of  the  flood. 

When  ship  encounters  ship,  tuid  foams  along  in  blood, 

August  amid  this  scene,  unclouded,  stand 
The  everlasting  hills  that  guard  our  land: 
And  reartheir  rocky  helmets,  where  the  sky 
Hath  pitched  their.tent  upon  immensity 
These  are  our  forts!  our  batUements!  our  holds' 
Our  bulwarks!  our  entrenchment.!  Here  unfolds 
I  he  rainbow-banner,  and  its  lights  are  forth 
In  sudden  splendours,  like  the  streaming  north- 
An  outspread  eaglet  o»er  each  standard  stoops,  ' 
With  unclosed  beak,  and  wing  that  never  droops: 
And  stars  are  busy  there-and  through  the  niirht 
A  constellation  blazes  on  the  sight- 
Eagles!  and  stars!  and  rainbows!-all  abroad 
Beneath  a  boundless  sky,  upon  a  mountain*  road! 

And  LiBSRTr,  from  whose  imperial  eye. 
Unfettered  Umb,  and  step  of  majesty. 
Perpetual  sunshine  brightens  aU  the  air. 
When  undisturbed  by  man-in  wrath  is'there' 
And  prostrate  armies  now,  are  kneeling  round: 
They  see  the  rolling  clouds!  they  hear  the  sound 
Of  peahng  thunders!  While  her  martial  form 
Lightens  tremendous  in  the  gutiiering  storm! 
They  breathe  that  buoyant  mountain  atmosphere. 
And  kmdhng  m  their  eyes  those  lights  appear,- 

rhosequenchlessHghts!-that  despots,  tymnts  dread. 
When  man  comes  forth  in  might,  and  lifts  his  head 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGAKA. 


115 


] 


n  blood, 


is 


pa: 
ht. 


d! 


?»; 


ead. 


Sublime  in  desperation;  when  they  hear 

The  song  of  trumpets  bursting  on  their  ear! 

The  shock  of  armies!  and,  afar,  behohl 

Rebellion's  crimson  standard  all  unrolled! 

When  slaves  are  men— are  monarchs—and  their  tread 

Comes  like  the  resurrection  of  the  dead! 

Man  hursts  hw  fel*ers!  shakes  his sheathless  sword— 

Stancb  on  his  gnve,  and  battles  with  his  lord 

For  sepuiiore  or  freedom— eye  to  eye— 
\xid  swears  to  live  his  equal,  or  to  die, 
In  glorious  martyrdom— to  glorious  LiBEiixr. 

Then  let  the  trumpet  of  tlie  battle  sound! 

Then  let  the  shuddering  challenge  peal  around! 

'Till  all  our  ruffled  eaglets  start  and  wake— 

And  scream  aloud-and  whet  their  beaks-und  shake 

Their  guardian  wings,  o»er  mountain,  wood,  and  lake! 

The  blast  will  but  disturb  the  spirit  there; 

But  rouse  the  she-wolf  from  her  bloody  lair; 

But  wake  the  fiery-harnessed  multitudes; 

The  dark  battalions  of  untrodden  woods; 

Whose  viewless  chiefs  shall  giitl  their  armour  on, 
And  lighten  o'er  the  fields  their  valour  won: 
'Twill 'waken  echoes  in  that  soUtude, 
Less  welcome  tlian  the  panther's  cry  for  food: 
Less  earthly— than  the  voices  heard,  when  Night 
Collects  her  angels  on  some  stormy  height, 
And  airy  trumps  are  blown!  and  o'er  the  heaven 
Ten  thousand  fearful  challenges  are  given! 

Those  star-crowned  hills!  the  gathering  will  be  there. 
Of  heaven's  dim  hordes,  the  squadrons  of  air! 
G2 


y   I 


J 


S'S|«W!^«T»«'' 


M6 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


% 


Ei'ect  and  high,  upon  their  stonmy  cars 

In  meteor  armour— rushing  'mid  the  stars. 
The  dusky  champions  of  the  earth  and  sky 
Will  seem  encountering  in  their  chivalry. 
Yon  moon-light  lents,  so  giUantly,  outspread 
By  living  hands,  will  then  be  filled' with  dead: 
Whose  home  is  space:  the  habitation,  t^jo. 
Of  yon  perpetual  host,  that  walk  in  blue:  ' 
That  endless  multitude!  eternal  source! 
Of  wonder  and  of  worship  in  their  course; 
O,  whither  is  your  march?  ye  stars!  and  whence? 
Ye  blazing  myriads  of  Omnipotence! 
Ye  suns!  who  burst  from  darkness  with  our  earth. 
Still  coming  forth  in  oae  continual  birth! 
Almighty  miracles!  who  fill  the  air 
With  melody  and  light,  as  if  ye  were 
'  A  host  of  living  harmonies, — ye  roll, 
Systems  and  worlds— all  intellect  and  soul! 
Interpreters  of  God!  who've  called  to  man. 
From  yon  eternal  vault,  since  time  began: 
Ye  midnight  travellers,  who,  nightly  move 
In  everlasting  pilgrimage  above! 
Ye  blazonry  of  power!  ye  heraldry  of  love! 

There's  one  who  stands  to  see  that  deep  blue  fold 
Of  glories— suns— and  systems,  all  unrolled,* 


I.  I 


•  This  was  stolen— I  confess  it,— from  the  "unrolling 
glory"  in  the  Mrs  of  Palestine,  I  do  not  strike  it  out— 
because  I  conceive  it  to  be  the  noblest  compliment  that 
I  can  pay  any  man,  to  let  it  remain. 


i   I 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


117 


rtb. 


In  speechless  adoration,— with  an  eye 
Of  dampened  light  uplifted  to  iho  sky; 
Who  half  forgets  the  signal  that  he  gave. 
And  echoing  answer  o'er  the  distant  wave: 
For  he  is  all  alone  upon  the  shore — 
Alone— at  night— what  could  he  think  of  more? 
He  speaks  not  -moves  not:  his  uncovered  brow. 
It  one  might  Eie—perchance  is  gathered  now; 
His  attitude,  so  fixed,  is  that  of  thought- 
Something  of  stem  composure;  as  if  wrought 
With  dangerous  purpose  to  be  done  with  speed. 
Some  quick-matured— but  full-determined  deed; 
Now— o'er  the  dim  blue  waters  you  may  see 
His  eye  go  flashing  and  impatiently: 
And  now  his  helm  is  shaken— and  his  hand 
Is  partly  raised  as  if  'twere  in  command: 
The  dipping  of  an  oar  is  heard— a  boat  so  light. 
It  scarcely  touched  the  wave,  is  now  in  sight: 
Around  the  cUfFit  came,  Uke  some  keen  bird— 
That  passes  by  you  'ere  her  wing  is  heard; 
Like  the  enchanted  skiff  that  dreamers  see, 
Self-moved  in   moonlight  breeze— light,   swil't,    and 
cheerfully: 


efold 


mrolUng 
it  out — 
lent  that 


An  Indian  springs  on  shore:  his  light  canoe 
Hath  vanished  like  a  spectre  from  the  view: 
Something  he  murmurs  in  the  sullen  tone 
Of  one  who  is  abandoned:  all  alone- 
Left  to  contend  with  many;  and  his  eye. 
So  rooted— deadly,  bodes  some  danger  nigh: 
G3 


i^P 


ri  ••■■ 


\ 


iu 


UATTLE  OF  NlAGAttA; 


ttush!  hush — a  rustling— and  a  fearful  pause—i- 

A  sword  is  half  unsheathed — the  Indians  draws 

His  arrow  to  the  head;  but  why? — no  sound — 

Of  thundering'  tread,  is  echoing  on  the  ground: 

Ko  footstep  comes — no  cautious— stealing  foe — 

The  garland-float  is  heard,  and  watery-flow — 

And  nothing  else,  o'er  blue  Ontario. 

One  rapid  glance!  his  soul  is  all  revealed; 

Battle  is  near— his  swarthy  bro\*r  is  sealed 

With  Indian-meaning,  and  his  serpent  eye 

Is  black  and  glittering  with  a  changeless  dye; 

The  stranger  too— as  if  he  scarcely  breathed, 

Stands  stooping  -listening— with  his  blade  unsheathed; 

Silent  as  death  they  are;  one  glance— a  single  glance 

Was  but  exchanged— in  their  deep,  pulseless  trance^ 

One  glance!  it  was  enough — and  each  was  sure 

Of  all  his  fellow  would  perform — endure. 

Yet — none  of  that  of  companionship  is  here. 

The  union  of  the  vulgar,  when  in  fear: 

No  talk— no  whisper — but  the  steady  eye 

Of  dangerous-boding — stem  tranquillity: 

The  strong,  cool  brow  -the  upright,  martial  tread 

Of  planted  strength— the  boldb-  lifted  head; 

One  glance!  a  white  man*9  glance — the  Indian  feeW 

What  none  but  Nature's  savage  man  conceals — 

The  swell  of  sympathy — of  brotherhood. 

In  danger  and  in  death— in  solitude. 


■V    M 


Now — o'er  the  waters  ye  may  faintly  see 
A  shadowy, vision  coming  silently. 


iws 

)und: 
foe — 


e; 

ed, 

unsheathed; 

rle  glance 

less  trance^^ 

lure 

fe. 


al  tread 
»d. 

dian  feeW 
als — 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA.  119 

\  rushing  now  is  heard-and  spreading  large 

With  sail  upon  the  wind-there  comes  a  barge: 

And  yet,  metliinks,  its  lightly  lifted  prow,   • 

Upon  its  glossy  path,  goes  wondrous  slow; 

It  comes -as  drifting  from  Uie  guarded  strand, 

And  looks  as  tho'  in  peace-  unarmed-unmanned; 

This  has  a  quite  aspect—but  that  sail 

Is  sharply  trimmed,  as  if  it  might  prevail. 

In  i-uder  nights  than  this,  against  a  fiercer  gale. 

A  bird  of  prey,  perhaps-that  folds  its  wing- 

And  sits  upon  the  wave  in  slumbering; 

That  stoops  at  night-but  stay!  she  goes  about- 

is  that  a  signal?-there!-that  light  thrown  out 

By  heaven  'tis  answeredl-answered  from  the  land. 

From  yonder  beetling  steep  is  stretched  a  brand! 

The  waters  foam-up  com^s  the  boat  in  pride! 

Leaving  a  path  of  hght  along  the  tide; 

And  'ere  the  foldier  can  put  forth  his  blade, 

Me  is  a  prisoner! -Round  him  are  arrayed 
\  hidden  band,  that  started  from  their  shade: 

A  band  with  bayonets  levelled  at  his  breast- 
rhe  circle  narrows- nods  each  threatening  crest: 
Contracting  slowly,  they  approach-as  they 
Still  feared  a  single  warrior,  when  at  bay: 
^  Yield,'  cries  tlie  foremost,  loudly.-fiercely-'yicldl 
The  stranger  would  reply-but  sees  concealed 
Beneath  a  stooping  oak,  his  dark  ally, 
With  bendid  bow-and  cool,  and  patient  eye,- 
Ue  waves  his  hand-the  arrow's  point  is  drtipp'd- 
The  death  shaft  of  a  fte,  upon  its  flight,  is  stopp'd; 
n  4. 


'— :'"«s<^ 


I*    ! 


Ilij 

1-9  R  W 


."^  . 


1* 


120 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


the  summons  is  repeated:  «tield!'  he  cries 

With  anger  flashing  from  his. youthful  eyes' 

A  pause-a  change  of  attitude  betrays 

A  naked  blade  to  his  imperious  gaze. 

A  backward  step-^a  dagger-thus  repealed*- 

What  could  he  think?-.Stranger!-that  point   eSorf- 
cealed! 

'^Concealeur  the  stranger  echoed- and  it  came 
With  startling  emphasis,  and  kindling  flame- 
Then-turning  silently,  he  shook  his  head 
In  oahn  disdain,  and  with  his  lordly  tread, 
And  gathered  cloak,  he  stood-as  one  who  feek 
TAat  every  spirit  round  him,  prostrate  kneels- 
He  grasps  his  trusty  hilt.-he  moves  away 
The  circle  widens:-all  who  meet,  obey 
The  calm  command-firm  step-iirtrepid  eye 
Of  one  familiar  with  such  victoiy: 
Amid  the  working  of  that  mighty  spell 
He  had  escaped-but  some  low  murmurs  feU, 
And  each  arose  in  heart:  their  wandering  eye^ 
Now  lowered  in  silent  threat-now  sought  fheir prize.- 
The  charm  was  broken,  and  their  strength  returned; 
And  each  reproached  his  comrade,  while  he  baxrned 
i.  o  wipe  away,  for  ever,  this  disgrace. 
And  meet  his  foe,  once  more!-but  face  to  face 
Tis  done-their  prayer  is  granted-their  pursuit 
Is  short  indeed.    Again  they  all  are  mute; 
He  stands  too  proudly-and  is  found  too  near 
To  leave  them  their  last  hope-that  he  had  fled  in  fear.    . 

Their  angry  leader  is  the  first  to  break 
The  suUen  loneUness;  the  first  to  wake 


Milt    COrf- 


le. 


ils 


ir  prize- 
rued; 
irned  I 


it 


n  fear 


■ 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


121 


Some  sound— he  cares  not  what— so  it  be  life; 

Something  less  awful— be  it  even  strife. 

•Stranger!'  he  cries  again,  'your  arms!  yoursword!—- 

«0r'— pausing  faintly-  'or'—the  evening  word. 

The  stranger  smiled— advanced  his  foot,— and  said; 

Wliile  all  stood  awe-struck  at  his  martial  tread. 

And  something  rustled  in  the  neighbouring  shade— 

«Wliere  is  your  leader?— let  him  take  my  bladel' 

«I  am  the  leader!' — 

•You!  and  by  what  right 

«Arrest  ye  thus  a  traveller  at  night?* 

They  marked  his  port- his  keen,  unshifting  eye; 

His  half-raised  lip,  and  stand  of  majesty— 

His  calm— serene— and  almost  taunting  tone — 
And  yet— they  knew  their  prize!— he  was  alone. 
cA  travdler /—yes^aind  'ere  to-morrow's  light 
He  will  be  hanged  for  travelling  thus  at  night.' 
The  stranger's  hand  fell  sudden  on  his  hip, 
•Hanged!'  he  replied,  and  higher  curled  his  lip. 
And  lightnings  left  his  eye!— and  forth  he  stood 
Like  something  raised  within  that  solitude 
By  some  uiilioly  rite— upraised  in  wrath, 
By  some  unhallowed  step  upon  his  path; 
He  struggled— heaved  as  if  he  gasped  for  breath — 
And  all  was  silent  then,  as  in  the  hour  of  death. 

At  last  the  swelling  of  his  chest  subsides— 
The  lightnings  pass  away— a  cold  smile  rides 
Upon  the  writhing  of  his  mighty  brow, 
And  glittering  breast— from  which  his  mantle's  flow 


I  i 


i 


m 


flATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


t  -I 


J*;"'"'"? '""'•'""•"It  of  hi,  heart- 

■Asnv.  """^"^''keaaoldierdie!' 

A  » .ri,  "'"T"  ■""•'  f"*  W'  fi-kWon  flewi 
A  »lmll.  q„.ek  ,„„„„„,  ,„  ^j^  aew. 

Threw  off  his  cbak  -airainw  .h.  i.-  i.      7 

An  arraw  from  the  disUnt  shade  proceeds- 
The  f„re„o„f.lls_.„,„dia„  rushes  out, 
And  m,„g,es  with  the  horsemen's  furious  shout, 
Andsabres  streaming  clash-his  thrilling  cri« 
Short  „  ^    conflict-half  the  foot  band  die" 

Speedto  the  camp-return  by  break  of  da/ 

The  barge  hath  fled-Use  Indian,  where  is  he> 
The  savage  man  -.  the  naked-he  is  free' 
Againappears  the  skimming  light  canoe- 
Forth  from  ,ts  covert,  o'er  the  watery  blue. 
With  wondrous  impulse  now,  it  swiftly  flies 
Like  some  young  spirit  o'er  the  wintry  skies- 

Now  ^derneath  the  clifl--„„w„p  a  stream' 
Ot  ruffled  shade,  ,t  passes  like  a  dream, 


f  \ 


%.:4 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


123 


•art, 


!— 

i  his  roe:>M 

'py 

lewj 

tood^ 

id  would!* 

Ws  brand) 

steeds— 


Now  shooting:  'thwart  a  tranquil, lovely  sheet 
Of  shining  light,  as  it  goes  as  still  and  fleet. 
As  that  ethereal  bark  that  sails  on  high, 
Amid  the  lustre  of  a  dark  blue  sky: 
Now  on  the  flowery  bant  a  light  appears— 
A  cottage  nestles: — and  an  oak  uprears, 
With  all  its  giant  branches,  wide  outspread, 
Above  the  lonely  cot— its  thunder-blasted  head. 
And  there  the  stranger  stays:  beneath  that  oak. 
Whose  shattered  majesty  hath  felt  the  stroke 
Of  heaven's  own  thunder— yet  it  proudly  heaves 
A  giant  sceptre  wreathed  with  blasted  leaves— 
As  though  it  dared  the  elements,  and  stood 
The  guardian  of  tl;iat  cot— the  monarch  of  that  wood. 

Beneath  its  venerable  vault  he  stands: 
And  one  might  think,  who  saw  his  out^stretchcd  hand», 
That  something  more  than  soldiers  e'er  may  feel. 
Had  touched  him  with  its  holy,  calm  appeal: 
That  yonder  wave — the  heaven— the  earth—the  air 
Had  called  upon  his  spirit  for  her  prayer. 
His  eye  goes  dimly  o*er  the  midnight  scene: 
The  oak— the  cot— the  wood—  the  faded  green— 
The  moon— the  sky— the  distant  moving  light- 
All!— all  are  gathering  on  his  dampened  sight. 
His  warrior-helm  and  plume,  his  fresh-dyed  blad« 
Beneath  a  window,  on  the  turf  are  laid: 
The  panes  are  ruddy  thro'  the  clambering  vines 
And  blushing  leaves,  that  Summer  intertwines 
In  warmer  tints  than  e'er  luxuriant  Spring, 
O'er  flower-pmboflomed  roof  led  wandering. 


«M 


.jMsgfUiiiihiiiwi'i '  in**ii.in»i 


124 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


f 


I 


' 


His  pulses  quicken-,  for  a  rude  old  door 
l8  opene4  by  the  wind:  h-  sees  the  floor 
^rewed  with  white  sand,  on  which  he  used  to  truce 
H.S  boyhood's  battlc»...and  assign  a  place 
To  charging  hosts-and  give  the  fndian  yeU- 
And  shout  to  hear  his  hoary  grandsire  ttll. 
How  he  had  fought  with  savages,  whose  breath 
He  felt  upon  his  cheek  like  n.ildew  till  his  death. 

Hark!..-that  sweet  songl-how  full  of  tenderness. 
O,  who  would  breathe  in  -his  voluptuous  press 
01  lulling  thoughts!-s„  soothing  and  so  low- 
Like  singing  fountains  in  their  faintest  flowJ 
It  IS  as  if  some  holy—lovely  thing. 
Within  9ur  very  hearts  were  muiTOuring, 
The  soldier  listens,  ftnd  his  arms  are  prest 
In  thankfulness,  and  trembling  on  his  breast 
Now-^n  the  very  window  where  he  stands. 
Are  seen  a  clani!)ering  infant's  rosy  hands-  * 
And  now.-ah  heavenl-blessings  on  that  smUe'- 
Stay,  soldier  stay-0,  linger  yet  awhile! 
An  airy  vision  now  appears,  with  eyes- 
As  tender  as  the  blue  of  weeping  skjes: 
Yet  sunny  in  their  radiance,  as  that  blue. 
When  sunset  glitters  on  its  falUng  dew;  * 
With  form-..aU  joy  and  dance-as  bright  and  free 
As  youthful  nymph  of  mountain  Liberty.- 
Or  naked  angels  dreamt  by  poesy.- 
A  blooming  infant  to  her  heart  is  prest; 
And  ah-a  mother's  song  is  lulling  it  to  rest! 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGABA. 


125 


A  youthful  mother!  God  of  heaven!  is  there 

A  thing  beneath  the  skies,  so  holy  or  so  fiur! 

« 

A  single  bound! — our  chief  is  standing  by. 
Trembling  from  head  to  foot  with  ecatacy — 
•Bless  thee!'— at  length  he  murmured— 'bless  thee,  l«ve! 
*My  wife!---my  boy:*— Their  eyes  are  raised  above. 
His  solder's  tread  of  sounding  strength  is  gone: 
A  choking  transport  drowns  his  manly  tone: 
He  sees  the  closing  of  a  mild,  blue  eye. 
His  bosom  echoes  to  a  faint  low  cryt 
His  glorious  boy  springs  freshly  from  its  sleep; 
Shakes  his  thin  sun-curls,  while  his  eye-beams  leap, 
As  half  in  fear'-along  the  stranger's  dress- 
Then— half  advancing-  yields  to  his  caress:— 
Then— peers  beneath  his  locks,  and  seeks  his  eye. 
With  the  clear  look  of  radiant  infancy. 
The  cherub  smile  of  love,  the  azure  of  the  sky. 

The  stranger  now,  is  kneeling  by  the  side 
Of  that  young  mother; — watching  for  the  tide 
Of  her  returning  hfe:— it  comes— a  glow 
Goes — faintly — slowly — o'er  her  cheek  and  brow: 
A  rising  of  the  gauze  that  lightly  shrouds 
A  snowy  breast— like  twilight's  melting  clouds-- 
In  nature's  pure,  still  eloquence,  betrays 
The  feelings  of  the  heart  that  reels  beneath  his  gaze. 

She  lives!  she  lives— see  how  her  feelings  speak/ 
Thro'  what  transparency  of  eye  and  cheek! 


m 


II 


•MniiMM 


--«'^  tmmBi^ 


^.sl^^^^i^ 


nSSuan^' 


126 


BATTLE  OF  NfAGARA. 


I 


I 


Her  colour  comes  and  goes,  like  that  faint  ray. 
That  flits  o'er  Ulies  at  the  close  of  day. 
O.  nature,  how  omnipotent!-  that  sigh- 
That  youthful  mother,  in  her  ecstacy, 
Feels  but  the  wandering  of  a  husband's  eye. 
Hrr  lip  now  ripens,  and  her  heaving  breast 
Throbs  wildly  in  its  light,  and  now  subsides  to  rest. 

And  now  a  father  grasps  his  martial  hand; 
A  mother  and  a  sister  leaning  stand— 
A  mother—in  her  adoration— therein. 
With  clasped  hands  and  wildly  streaming  hair: 
A  sister— with  a  lip  of  pulpy  red, 
Swelhng  and  trembling  at  his  martial  tread; 
A  father— and  a  soldier!  one  who  feels 
AU  th^t  a  father  may— and  yet  his  heart  conceals. 

There  they  all  stand!  and  thro'  their  gathering  tears. 
The  smile  of  gratitude  and  pride  appears; 
While  o'er  his  manly  form  their  glances  fall; 
To  see  his  lordly  height— so  full— so  tall; 
The  gallant  bearing  of  hi   swelling  chest; 
The  lofty  brow— commanding— and  at  rest! 
His  springing  port— his  strong,  determined  tread, 
That  sounded  like  a  threat— the  colour  spread. 
In  health's  effulgent  brownness,  o'er  his  cheek; 
The  glance  of  tire,  in  which  there  seemed  to  speak 
The  tamelessness  of  one,  who'd  spend  his  life 
In  battle  and  in  storm— in  tempest  and  in  strife.   ' 


J(f 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


itr 


ly. 


to  rest. 


P: 


eals. 
ring  tears. 


ead, 

speak 

Fe. 


There  stands  the  man  of  blood!  now  search  his  eye; 
See  ye  aught  there  of  that  cool  mastery, 
That  dwells  on  danger  with  untroubled  look? 
Aught  of  that  deadly  calmness,  that  will  brook 
No  flame  of  challenge  in  another's  gaze? 
Aught  of  that  desperate  meaning,  which  betrays 
The  eye  that  is  familiar  with  the  deed 
Of  midnight  battle,  where  the  mighty  bleed? 
When  valour— manhood —perish  by  the  blow 
From  unseen  hands,  that  lay  the  coward  low? 
No— ye  may  not.    That  youthful  glance,  less  tame 
Than  the  quick  flashing  of  a  meteor  flame- 
Is  yet  of  generous  omen — not  the  light 
That  burns  vindictive  on  the  blasted  sight: 
That  streams  from  bloody  falchions— lights  the  field 
Of  midnight  slaughter,  where  the  mighty  yield 
Their  spirits  to  their  God,  in  silent  fight— 
The  war  of  murderers— wakened  but  in  night! 
His  is  the  flashing  eye  that  courts  the  day— 
The  pawing  steed-the  horn— the  full  display 
*  Of  columns— banners— martial  minstrelsy— 
The  drums  of  earth— the  echoes  of  the  sky— 
The  trumpet-song  of  Death  and  cannon  p«aling  high? 

*My  son '  tlie  old  man  said,  'to-morrow  night— 
*I  learn  ye  mingle  in  a  glorious  fight. 
'Remember  then  my  words.    This  form,  so  old, 
«Once  moved  in  blood,  where  mighty  Battle  toUed 
«The  warrior-kneU  in  storm,    in  that  dread  hour 
*jVJy  heart  was  always  sad. .  The  sinewy  power 


!.  I 


3? 


'~w*«*« 


138 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


^M 


n 


I 


-  ?  f 


♦Tlut  strung  my  jym,  was  not  the  gjUlwit  tide 

•That  leaps  at  the  far  trump  in  rushing  pride. 

•The  blaze  that  wrapped  my  eye,  was  not  the  fire  . 

•That  kindles  redly  at  the  battle  quire. 

•Religion,  and  my  country  nerved  my  arm, 

♦Fed  my  young  heart,  and  kept  my  eye-beam  warm. 

*My  gallant  boy— I  know  thou  art  full  brave, 

•That  evening  batUe  ground-may  be  thy  bloody  grave!* 

•Oh  no!*  the  mother  cries:— and  now  they  weep 
And  pray-as  we  wiU  pray  when  we're  asleep. 
With  ashy  lip— a  suffocating  prayer— that  dies 
In  broken  murmurs,  and  in  struggling  sighs: 
As  we  will  pray,  when  thro»  the  brooding  shade 
Unholy  sights,  by  Terror's  torch  betrayed, 
Come  thronging,  darkly,  in  delirium— 
With  heavy  wing— with  cloudy  breath— and  hum 
Of  one  unceasing  knell:  in  lonely  woe— 
In  sullen  boding—like  the  heavy  flow 
Of  far,  far  waves,  where  one  we  love  is  sleeping— 
When  we  are  set— we  know  not  how— a-weeping. 

^.  The  young  wife  8toops,-as  she  would  hide  her  tears; 

,    And  smile  with  hope,  while  bowing  down  with  fears: 
With  heart  that  pants  and  flutters  to  be  free. 
Like  some  young  negtlipg,  stolen  from  its  tree, 
That  heaves  its  bosom— shakes  it^  dazzling  plume, 
A  pulse  of  Ught  and  life,  entrapped  within  a  tomb! 

Hark!— from  the  distant  shore  far  trumpets  sweep! 
One  last  embrace:  once  more  they  meet  and  weep: 


% 


ide 

ie. 

he  fire  • 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA.  1S9 

Around  that  dear,  loved  gfroup,  once  more  is  shed 
A  farewell  smile— a  parting  tear:  then  sped 
The  husband  to  tlie  war!    With  unhung  brand, 
And  helmeted  for  strife,  he  joins  his  band! 


M 


\m  warm. 
K)dy  grave!* 


r  weep 

ep, 

dies 

ihade 


Ihum 


ping... 
eping. 


H 


*^ 


e  her  tears; 
ith  fears: 

» 

•ee, 

alume, 
tomb! 

9  sweep! 
weep: 


■M 


If 


i 


I 


i%. 


' 


PANTO  UL  , 

Same  night  continues general  appearances  of  nieht 

at  aU  seasons  assembled midnight daylight sun  * 

rise.....secondday Americans  parade  on  the  heights 

British  on  the  march Canadians British  chief.... inci- 

<i^nts associations evening Niagara. 


•t 


BATTLE  OT  JflAGAHA. 


i^t 


CANTO  III. 

THERE  are  harps  that  complain  to  the  presence  of  night, 
.       To  the  presence  of  night  alone- 

In  a  near  and  unchangeable  tone- 
Like  winds,  full  of  sound,  that  go  whispering  by.. 
As  If  some  immortal  had  stooped  from  tlie  sky- 

And  breathed  out  a  blessing-and  flown! 

Yes!....harps  that  complain  to  the  breezes  of  night- 

To  the  breezes  of  night  alone- 
Growing  fainter  and  fainter,  as  ruddy  and  bright. 
The  sun  roUs  aloft,  in  his  drapery  of  light- 
Like  a  conqueror,  shaking  his  brilliant  hair. 
And  flourishing  robe,  on  the  edge  of  the  air: 
Burning  crimson  and  gold. 
On  the  clouds  that  unfold— 

Breakingonwardin«ame!-.whilean  oceandiviies        « 
On  his  right  and  his  left-So  the  Thunderer  rides' 
When  he  cuts  a  bright  path  through  the  heaving  tides; 
,    Rolhng  on...and  erect-in  a  charioting  throne! 

Yes!-strings  that  lie  still  in  the  gushing  of  day; 

That  awake,  all  alive!...to  the  brce.es  of  night-. 


i 


f 


132 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGA|IA. 


There  are  hautboys  and  flutes  too*  for  ever  at  play, 
When  the  evening  is  near,  and  the  sun  is  away- 
Breathing  out  the  still  hymn  of  delight. 
These  strings  by  invisible  fingers  are  played:— 

By  spirits— unseen— and  unknown— 
But  thick  as  the  stars!— all  this  musick  is  made— 
And  these  flutes,  alone. 
In  one  sweet  dreamy  tone- 
Are  ever  blown  i 
For  ever  and  for  ever; 
Thelive-long  night  ye  hear  the  sound, 
Like  distant  waters  flowing itound, 
In  ringing  caves— while  heaven  m  sweet  , 
With  'cro'vding  tunes,  like  halls          , 
Where  fountain-niusick  falls. 
And  rival  minstrels  meet! 


I. 


] 


'Tis  dark  abroad.    The  majesty  of  Night 
Bows  down  superbly  from  her  utmost  height- 
Stretches  her  starless  plumes  across  the  world; 
And  all  the  banners  of  the  wind  are  furled. 
How  hefavily  we  breathe  amid  such  gloom! 
As  if  we  slumbered  in  creation's  tomb. 
It  is  tht»  noon  of  that  tremendous  hour. 
When  life  is  helpless,  and  the  dead  have  power: 
When  soUtudes  are  peopled:  when  the  sky 
Is  swept  by  shady  wings  that,  sailing  by. 
Proclaim  their  watch  is  set;  when  hidden  rills 
Are  chirping  on  their  course;  and  all  the  hills 
Are  bright  with  armour:— when  the  starry  vests 
And  glittering  plumes,  and  fiery  twinkling  crests 


<-«, 


Of  moon-light  seriUnA,  are  spwkUns  ro,m^ 
When  countless  voices,  in  the  day  uiAeari 

That  loves  Uie  lerfy  wood,  and  bloomin.  bower. 
And  eoh„,„g  i3  singingtoher  flo/er         ' 

Whe„eve,yIovely...eve,y,„„e,ypta,,;" 

fc™g.„gt.  the  light  and  sandaled  pace 
0<w,nkl,„g,eet,  and  all  about,  the  flol 
Of  newborn  fountains  murmuring  aaZ  ^o 
Whenwate,y  tunes  are  richest.-»d  tS' 
Of  wandenng  streamlets,  as  they  part  aid  fi 
nfoammg  melody,  is  all  around; 
L.ke  f^r^  harps  beneath  enchanted  ground 
Sweet  drowsy  distant  musick-  like  th^b^th 
Of  a,^ilutestlutbIow  before  an  inant'de*. 
It  is  that  hour  when  listening  ones  wiU  ween 
And  know  not  why:  when  we  would  glad/y  Ilel 
Ourl»t--lastsleep;  and  feel  no  touch  of  C^ 

.^"  """"'"  ""'"  "'  "— "  -<>»'  i  "net!"" 
T.11  we  are  startled  by  a  falUng  tear 
That  unexpected  gathered  in  our  Je 
VV^Ie  we  were  panting  f„ry„„  blessdd  sky. 
rtat  hour  of  graUtude-of  whispering  pier 
When  we  can  hear  a  worship  i„  the  ai^      "    ' 

ZT  ^     '^  '""^  ™™'»  "'^  «^»%  wheel 
And  o  er  our  lids  and  brow  a  blessing  ste^  ' 

And  t^^n-as  if  our  sins  were  all  forLtn 
AndaUourtea^werewiped-andw^h-ven, 


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1 
BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


It  is  that  hour  of  quiet  ecstacy, 
When  every  ruffling  wind,  that  passes  by 
The  sleeping  leaf,  makes  busiest  minstrelsy; 
When  all  at  once!  amid  the  quivering  shade, 
Millions  of  diamond  sparklers  are  betrayed! 
When  dry  leaves  rustle^  and  the  whisthng  song 
Of  keen-tuned  grass,  comes  piercingly  along; 
When  windy  pipes  are  heard — and  many  a  lute 
Is  touched  amid  the  skies,  and  then  is  mute: 
When  even  the  foliage  on  the  glittering  steep^ 
Of  feathety  bloom — is  whispering  in  its  sleep: 
When  all  the  garlands  of  the  precipice. 
Shedding  their  blossoms,  in  their  moonlight  bliss. 
Are  floating  loosely  on  the  eddying  air,         '    ' 
And  breathing  out  their  fragrant  spirits  there: 
And  all  their  braided  tresses  fluttering— bright, 
Are  sighing  faintly  to  the  shadowy  light: 
When  every  cave  and  grot— and  bower  and  lakei,     ' 
And  drooping  floweret-bell,  are  all  awake: 
When  starry  eyes  are  burning  on  the  chff 
Ofimany  a  crouching  tyrant  too,  as  if 
Such  melodies  were  grateful  even  to  himi 
When  life  is  loveliest — and  tlie  blue  skies  swim   " 
In  lustre,  warm  as  sunshine— but  more  dim; 
When  all  the  holy  sentinels  of  night  # 

Step  forth  to  watch  in  turn,  and  worship  by  their  light. 

Such  is  the  hour! — the  holy,  breathless  hour, 
When  such  sweet  minstrelsy  hath  mightiest  power; 
When  sights  are  seen,  that  all  the  blaze  of  day 
Can  never  rival,  in  its  fierce  display: 


' 


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ower: 

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135 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 

Such  is  the  hour-yet  not  a  sound  is  heard; 

No  sights  are  seen— no  melancholy  bird 
Sings  tenderly  and  swee't;  but  aU  the  air 
Is  thick  and  motionless  -  as  if  it  were 
A  prelude  to  some  dreadful  tragedy; 
Some  midnight  drama  of  an  opening'sky! 

The  Genius  of  the  mountain,  and  the  wood- 
The  stormy  Eagle,  and  her  rushing  brood; 
The  fire-eyed  tenant  of  the  desert  cave; 
The  gallant  spirit  of  the  roaring  wave; 
The  star-crowned  messengers  that  ride  the  air 
The  meteor  watch-hght,  with  its  streamy  hair, ' 
Threatening  and  sweeping  redly  from  the  hill; 
The  shaking  cascade.-and  the  merry  rill 

Are  'hushed  to  slumber  now-and  heaven  and  earth  are 
still.  , 

And  now  the  daylight  comesl-slowly  it  rides, 
In  ridgy  lustre  o'er  the  cloudy  tides, 
Like  the  soft  foam  upon  the  billow's  breast; 
Or  feathery  light  upon  a  shadowy  crest; 
The  morning  Breezes  from  their  slumbers  wake. 
And  o'er  the  distant  hilLtops  cheerly  shake       * 
Their  dewy  locks,  and  plume  themselves,  and  poise 
Their  rosy  wings,  and  listen  to  the  noise 
Of  echoes  wandering  from  the  world  below: 
The  distant  lake,  rejoicing  in  its  flow: 
The  bugles  ready  cry:  the  labouring  drum: 
The  neigh  of  steeds-and  the  incessant  hum 
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136 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


That  the  bright  tenants  of  the  forest  send: 
The  sunrise  gun;  the  heave^the  wave— and  bend 
Of  everlasting  trees,  whose  busy  leaves 
Rustle  their  song  of  praise,  while  Ruin  weaves 
A  robe  of  verdure  for  their  yielding  bark; 
While  mossy  garlands-  -A  full,  and  dark. 

Creep  slowly  round  then         .^narciis  of  the  wood! 
Whose  mighty  sceptres  sway  the  mountain  brood! 
Whose  aged  bosoms,  in  their  last  decay. 
Shelter  the  winged  idolaters  of  day: 
Who,  'mid  the  desert  wild,  sublimely  stand. 
And  grapple  with  the  storm-god  hand  to  hand! 
Then  drop  like  weary  pyramids  away; 
St'iipendous  monuments  of  calm  decay! 
As  yet  the  warring  thunders  have  not  rent 
The  swimming  clouds,  the  brightening  firmament. 
The  lovely  mists  that  float  aroifnd  the  sky- 
Ruddy  and  rich  with  fresh  and  glorious  dye. 
Like  hovering  seraph  wings-or  robe  of  Poesy! 

^    Now  comes  the  sun  forth!  not  in  blaze  of  fire: 
With  rain-bow-harnessed  coursers,  that  respire 
An  atmosphere  of  flame.    No  chariot  whirls 
O'er  reddening  clouds.    No  sunny  flag  unfurls 
O'er  rushing  smoke.    No  chargers  in  array 
Scatter  thro'  heaven  and  earth  their  fiery  spray. 
No  shouting  charioteer,  in  transport  flings 
Ten  thousand  anthems,  from  tumultuous  strings: 
And  round  and  round,  no  fresh-plumed  echoes  dance 
No  airy  minstrels  in  the  flush  light  glance: 


L 

nd: 

—and  bend 

veaves 

■k; 

id  dark, 

f  the  wood! 

itaiii  brood! 


and, 
0  hand! 


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dye, 
i"  Poesy! 

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BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA  IZT 

No  rushing  melody  comes  strong  and  deep: 
And  far  away  no  fading  winglets  sweep: 
No  boundless  hymning  o'er  the  bUie-sky  rings, 
In  hallelujalis  to  the  King  of  Kings: 
No  youthful  hours  are  seen.    No  riband  lash. 
Flings  its  gay  stripings  like  a  rainbow  flash. 
While  starry  crowns,  and  constellations  fade 
Before  the  gloiies  of  that  cavalcade, 
Whose  trappings  aie  the  jewelry  of  beaven, 
Embroidered  thickly  on  tlie  clouds  of  even. 

Nb!-_no!— he  comes  not  thus  in  pomp,  and  light! 
A  new  creation  bui-sting  out  of  night! 
But  he  comes  darkly  forth!  in  storm  arrayed— 
Like  the  red  Tempest  marshalled  in  her  shade,, 
When  mountains  rock;  and  tliunders  travelling  round. 
Hold  counsel  in  the  sky— and  midnight  trumps  resound 

Hark!  the  deep  drums  again;-ithe  echoing  drums! 
Their  rousing  loudly  tlirough  the  clear  air  comes. 
And  trumpets  dread  hourra!  -  its  plunging  blast 
Left  every  heait—a-heaving — as  it  past. 
in  that  wild  threatening  cry  how  much  of  life!    ' 
Of  martial  song:— the  minstrelsy  df  strife. 
A  flash!— a  vapour!  from  yon  fading  cloud 
The  cannon's  voice  comes  suddenly  aloud: 
Now  bursts  the  smothered  war!  and  proudly  rise 
Fresh  plumes  ancl  banners,  blazing  to  the  skies! 
And  further  still,  the  loud  artillery  rolls 
L'iiiinterrupted  thunder  to  the  poles! 
H4 


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138 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


I 


That  morning  sun  uprose  o'er  swelling  hearts, 
That  e'er  the  evening  sun  once  more  departs. 
Shall  cease  to  swell  on  earth.    That  trumpet's  voice 
For  the  last  time  hath  called  them  to  rejoice: 
Yes-many  a  pulse  now  fiercely  throbbing  there. 
Hath  heard  its  requiem  in  the  morning  air. 

A  horseman!— surely  we  have  seen  that  steed— 
His  reaching  step-his  flowing  mane-his  speed: 
The  rein  is  loosened— upwai-d  to  the  heaven. 
He  leaps,  as  if  the  battle  blast  were  given! 
That  youthful  rider— what  an  awful  brow!— 
How  calm  and  grand!-and  now  he  nods-and  now- 
,    Faith,— 'tis  'a  glorious  vision!  how  his  hair 
Is  blown  about  his  cheek,  as  if  it  were 
A  living  richness  clustering  in  the  air! 
His  chest  is  heaving,  and  his  sunny  eye 
Goes  bright  and  feariess  o'er  the  clear  blue  sky: 
That  lip— that  brow,  that  ardent,  piercing  look 
In  batUe's  wildest  uproar  never  shook: 
No  frowning-and  no  effbrt-always  bright, 
And  always  careless— always— even  in  fight! 
And  yet  that  smile  of  his,  that  waving  hand. 
And  nodding  plume,  among  his  chosen  band. 
Have  a  determined  and  despotick  sway. 
O'er  hearts  and  souls,— that  never  would  obey 
The  lordliest  frown  that  ever  sat  in  cloud; 
The  stormiest  voice  that  ever  raged  aloud: 
The  darkest  helm  that  ever  nodded  proud: 
His  is  a  spirit  of  that  mighty  power. 
That  moves  the  calmest  in  the  troubled  hour: 


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BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


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139 


An  eye  that,  even  in  danger,  threatens  not; 
Calm—frank  and  generous— ne'er  to  be  forgot, 
That,  even  in  strife,  looks  forth  with  beams  of  peace, 
And  brightens  as  the  thunders  of  the  batUe  cease. 

His  march  was  victory— and  his  charger's  tread 
Hath  been  familiar  with  the  warrior's  bed-^ 
The  battle  field!  His  brow  was  always  bare, 
His  head  thrown  back-his  right  arm  in  the  air! 
His  charger  leaping-plunging--as  he  came. 
And  went  amid  the  battle  wrapped  in  flame; 
While  o'er  him  waved  the  star-flag,  thick  with  smoke; 
Unharmed  he  sat-and  like  the  thunder  spoke: 
Nodding  his  tall  plumes  to  the  trumpet-blast 
The  fiercest  in  the  strife,  but  when  'twas  past. 
The  first  to  sheathe  his  blade-to  leave  the  battle,  last. 

The  drum  is  rolled  again.    The  bugle  sings; 
And  far  upon  the  wind  the  cross  flag  flings 
A  radiant  challenge  to  its  starry  foe, 

Thatfloats— a  sheet  of  light!— -away— ielow 
Where  troops  are  forming—slowly  in  the  night 
Of  mighty  waters;  where  an  angry  light 

Bounds  from  the  cataract,  and  fills  the  skies 
With  visions— rainbows— and  the  foamy  dyes. 
That  one  may  see  at  mom  in  youthful  poet's  eyes. 

Niagaua!  Niagaiia!    I  hear 
Thy  tumbling  water*.    And  I  see  thee  rear 
Thy  thundering  sceptre  to  the  clouded  skies: 
I  see  it  wave-I  hear  the  ocean  rise, 


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140 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


S.V 


rr 


And  roll  obedient  to  thy  call.    I  hear 

The  tempest-hymning'  of  thy  floods  in  fear: 

The  quaking  mountains  and  the  nodding  trees— 

The  reeling  birds—and  the  careering  breeze— 

The  tottering  hills,  unsteadied  in  thy  roar; 

Niagara!  as  thy  dark  waters  pour. 

One  everlasting  earthquake  rocks  thy  lofty  shore! 

There  spreads  the  red  cross-banner,  fhr  and  wide, 
Flapping  its  dark  blue,  as  'tis  wont  to  ride 
O'er  the  red  tempest,  on  the  mountain-tidc. 
The  troops  of  Wellington  are  there;  a  band- 
Nursed  by  stern  Glory  in  her  favourite  land: 
The  guardians  of  the  Spaniard,  when  subdued, 
And  trampled  in  the  dust:  a  band  that  stood 
Forth  with  that  banner,  floating  hke  a  shroud, 

And  battled  on  the  mountain— in  a  cloud 

With  high—stupendous  Gaul,  until  her  genius  bowed. 

Stern  eyes  are  lifted  to  it,  as  it  leans 
Away  upon  the  breeze:  and  long  past  scenes 
Of  home  and  country,  o'er  the  heaving  main— 
Of  fire-side  peace,  are  conjured  up  again: 
Parents-  and  wife— and  children— and  young  eyes 
Of  weeping  love,  are  looking  from  the  skies:  , 
And  murmuring  prayers  are  near  again:  and  dreams 
Of  parting  lips;  and  many  a  dark  eye  beams 
Upon  its  soldier's  heart,  as  it  had  done. 
When  they  had  parted— parted'-all  alone; 
And  every  friend  he  had,  w?s  going  one  by  one. 


f^^ 


6ATTLE  OP  NIAGARA.  Ui 

trom  the  horizon  now,  a  gathering  cloud 
Comes  darkly  o'er  the  hiUs;  and  now  a  crowd 
Of  mothers,  fathers,  sisters,  lovers,  friends. 
Come  forth  to  pray  for  those  whom  Glory  sends, 
In  pomp  and  fever  to  the  field  of  death; 
A  throng,  who  came  to  pour  their  erring  breath, 
To  him— the  ood  of  mack!— who  sits  on  liigh; 
To  pray  that  he  will  bless  the  fiery  eye; 
And  bloody  hand,  that  smitf.s  in  iron  wrath 
A  brother  to  the  dust!— and  light  the  path 
Of  him  who  rides  in  battle  and  in  blood, 
Carvingthat  brother  for  the  shrieking  brood, 
That  snuff  the  coming  war,  and  drini^  tlie  vital  flood. 

Yonder  on  snow-white  charger,  treading  proud, 
A  red-cross  chieftain  goes  to  meet  that  crowd: 
An  aged  warrior,  and  a  valiant  one: 
A  liero  oi  the  battles  that  are  done. 
I'lie  fife  sounds  cheerly!  and  their  steady  tread. 
And  long,  firm  steppings,  as  their  columns  spread;  • 
Their  glancing  splendours  o'er  the  distant  hill: 
Their  flapping  banners— and  their  horns  that  fill 
AU  heaven,  and  eartli,  and  air  with  martial  song, 
As  their  proud  foot-line  winds  its  length  along. 
Would  seem  the  pageantry  of  Peace,  instead  ' 
Of  battle  cavalcade  by  Sluughter  led. 

Who  is  that  drooping  o^?  with  snowy  breast; 
Shrinking  like  virgins  when  they're  first  carest; 
With  full,  dark  eye,  and  melancholy  smile. 
And  glistening  lash,  that's  standing  there  the  while 


f^ 


148 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGAKA. 


That  aged  man  comes  upl'  How  pale  that  cheek! 
And  yet  how  eloquent!  O,  she  can  speak, 
With  that  dark  lash  and  that  slow  dropping  tear. 
Unutterable  thoughts— when  one  is  near, 
In  solitude  and  silence — that  is  dear. 
But  see!— she  moves— and  now  her  wild,  dark  ey 
Is  flashing^^lifted:  something  passes  by: 
A  youth  in  armour!  what  a  glorious  face! 

And  now  he  reins  hit  barb:  with  what  a  grace 

He  waves  his  snowy  helmet — and  his  hand- 
How  full  of  noble  spirit  and  command! 
A  gallant  glorious  form— but  yet  a  boy: 
An  eye  of  terror  and  a  lip  of  joy; 
Sure  he  has  lost  the  rein! — his  fiery  steed 
Goes  plunging  so,  with  such  a  fearful  speed: 
He  has!  he  has! — a  shriek!  he  has  indeed! 
That  waving  of  his  helm — that  loosened  rein— 
O  God— the  precipice! — it  is  in  vain—  " 

Yet  stay— what  death-like  silence— now  he  wheels! 
And  every  heart  breathes  out:  and  every  bosom  feels 
The  cool  air  coming  freshly— can  it  be! 
Is  that  the  fiery  steeds  can  this  he  he? 
The  rider — that  \iras  bending  o'er  the  mane?  • 
This  tlie  fierce  steed  that  caught  the  loosened  rein? 
Foaming  he  comes,  with  glossy  neck  arched  high, 
And  stately  step,  and  wildly  rolling  eye— 
RattHng  his  bits,,  and  reaching  with  his  head— 
This  that  fierce  steed?  why,  how  composed  his  tread. 
The  horseman  too,  how  steady,  light  and  high 
Sits  the  jfoung  spirit  with  bis  lightning  eye, 


L'.i:l^^i.iLjLjii.mi''Si^^ 


BATTLE  OF  NIASARA. 

And  Bmiling  lip.    See  how  his  panting  breast 
Is  heaving  yet  beneath  his  studded  vest: 
The  gathered  rein—the  firm,  elastick  seat 
Of  airy  grace,  how  young— yet  how  complete! 
Forth  flies  his  blade—the  aged  warrior  comes— 
Bow  the  high  banners!  roll  the  answering  drums! 

And  now  amid  a  throng  of  sparkling  eyes 
In  terror  lifted  to  the  bright  blue  skies. 
Slow  tears  of  thankfuJness  and  joy  are  flowing; 
And  round  about  a  languid  cheek  are  flowing, 
Rich  silkiness  and  shade:  and  faintly— slow, 
A  lovely  hand  goes  o'er  a  brow  of  snow- 
In  woman's  meekest— loveliest  helplessness— 
The  lifeless  grace  of  beauty  in  distress: 
But  see!  she  wakes-and  forth  with  glittering  eyt. 
And  burning  cheek— and  form  erect  and  high. 
She  steps  in  light!  That  melancholy  maid 
Stands  like  Minerva  for  the  war  arrayed! 
How  altered!  yet  how  lovely  in  her  change! 
How  sudden  and  complete— indeed  'tis  strange 
That  such  a  transformation  should  be  wrought 
So  instantaneously— 'twas  brief  as  thought. 
Now  banners  float,  and  'mid  die  tented  plain 
She  and  the  warrior  meet:  and  o'er  the  mane 
Of  his  white  steed,  he  bows  and  smiles— and  now. 
Presses  his  old  lip  to  her  snowy  brow ; 
*Farewell,  my  child— farewell!'  the  warrior  says, 
His  high  plume  shaking  in  the  sunny  blaze; 
And  glancing  to  her  heart  its  cheerful  dye. 
As  hurrying— faultering— with  averted  eye- 


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IH 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


That  tells  for  whom  the  silent  prayer  is  made- 
While  on  her  heart  one  trembling  hand  is  laid. 
She  waves  the  other  as  they  speed  away, 
Where  the  keen  streamers  of  the  Briton  play. 
A  tear  came  slowly  in  her  wandering  eye; 
The  parting  seemed  so  sad-she  knew  not  why— 
As  far  upon  the  wind  the  white  steed  flew, 
Like  grey  hound  brusliing  off  tiie  heathc'r's  morning 
dew. 


Yon  sick  man,  bending  to  the  earth,  haUi  been 
In  the  red  strife  himself—hath  often  seen 
In  other  days,  a  flashing  helm  laid  low. 
While  yet  it  shook  in  triumph  o'er  its  foe: 
In  that  gay  band  whose  tramp  is  passing  far. 
That  go  in  revelry  and  song  to  war. 
That  sick  man  has  a  brother—young  and  brave- 
That  brother!— he  is  riding  to  his  grave. 
A  farewell  swinging  of  his  martial  band 
Tells  to  his  heart-^what  sbldiers  understand- 
That  he  will  conquer!— or  will  bravely  He 
AVith  cloven  crest  and  bosom  to  the  sky. 
And  never  tinge  his  cheek,  altho'  he  dim  his  eye. 

'My  last-last  hope!'  a  mother  cries,  and  kneels. 
While  o'er  the  hills  a  sound  of  tumult  reels; 
Is  it  the  war-song  rushing  in  the  breeze? 
Parents  and  friends,  it  is  the  bending  trees. 
Go  speed  ye  home,  and  spend  your  day  in  prayer; 
To-morrow's  sun  may  wake  ye  to  despair. 


'I  '"1 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA 


145 


Go  kneel  ye  on  some  desert  rock,  and  pray. 
Unceasingly  and  deep,  the  live-Iong  day. 
To  Him  whose  angels  calm  the  stormy  fray 
The  time  is  coming  when  your  troubled  sleep 
Whltr^:'^^^  -hen  yeshdl  weep 

Whene  er  ihe  storm  « loud-or  panthers  scream- 
And  fancy  »t.s  the  strife,  and  feel  the  battle  drel. 

The  cavaicade  went  by.    The  day  hath  gone' 

And  yet  thesoldier  lives:  his  cheerful  tone 
Rises  in  boisterous  song:  while  slowly  calls . 
The  monarch  spirit  of  the  mighty  falls. 
Soldier,  be  firm!...and  mind  your  watch  fires  well- 
S  eep  not  to-mght^there  comes  a  distant  swell 
Like  the  approaching  step  of  toiling  steeds. 
Encountering  on  the  hiUs:  and  far  behTnd  us  speeds. 

«ath  left  the  storm  with  which  his  course  be^un- 
And  now  m  rolling  cloud,  goes  calmlyTome^""' 
nheavenly  pomp-a.iown  the  far  blue  dome 
in  sweet-toned  minstrelsy  is  hea«l  the  ciy 

AU  char  and  smooth,  along  the  echoing^y 
Of  many  a  fresh  blown  bugle  full  anH  / 
The  «ni^:..  »   ■  "ugie,  lull  and  strong. 


I 


146 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


»8f     i 


Loosely  unwoven,  and  far  unfurled, 

A  sunset  canopy  enwraps  the  world. 

The  vesper  hymn  grows  soft.    In  parting  day 

Wings  flit  about.    The  warblings  die  away. 

The  shores  are  dizzy,  and  the  hiUs  look  dim. 

The  cataract  falls  deeper  and  the  landscapes  swim. 


J  day 
Eipes  swim. 


■iiliimin»imi 


i 


CANTO  IV. 


Evenrng  contmued preparations. for  battle....  Bri. 

tjsh  occupy  an  eminence Americans  approach.....bat. 

tie  on  the  mngs Americans  cany  the  British  artillery 

at  ^e  pointof  the  bayonet....three  successive  attempts 
made  by  the  British  to  dislodge  the  An^ericans,  and  re 
gain  the  height.... .Americans  remain  in  possession.... 
Niagara.  *^ 


BATTLE  0¥  XIAGAUA- 


CANTO  IV. 

AWAY,  away,— to  the  winds  away! 
With  your  baiHieii.  nt'«ame.  and  ^ve  them  play! 
The  battle,  in  wrath,  is  coming! 
A  flock  of  young  vultures  are  poising  their  wings; 
And  the  untrodden  solitude  rings. 
With  voices— and  trumpets-and  drumming! 
Prom  away  in  the  cloudless  air. 

Where  all  is  so  soft  and  serene- 
That  never  a  speck  can  be  seen, 
There  comes  a  cry. 
As  if  it  were 
Some  unseen  eaglet  in  the  sky. 
Stooping  down  on  her  shrieking,  invisible  prey; 
And  the  dim  arch  of  heaven  is  bright 
With  the  luminous  flight. 
Of  birds— flocking  upward— all  red 
With  the  bloodiest  tint  that  the  sun  ever  shed: 
Swarming  -  ut  from  the  mist-where  the  water  rolls 

white— 
And/scaling  away  intlie  changeable  light, 

As  if  warmed  into  life  by  the  sun-setting  ray: 


m^^it^^StH. 


150 


^' 


i 


"■^ 


BATTLE  OF  NUGARA. 


l^e  the  birds  of  the  sea  from  the  surgef 

"vX^e.^'^^^'^^^'^^^^^^^-^orthehillo. 

^°^^»y  'n  hght^-and  subJime  in  display! 
Now  the  rising  air  brings      • 

Where  ancient  bards  had  been  interred. 
Their  spirits  rose  again  to  trace,        ^ 
In  iow-prophetic  murmuring 

Th.  f  ^""V^^  '^^  «oft  approach  of  win^ 
The  fate  of  yonder  host,  that  come-  '^* 

Unhallowed-to  intrude... 

With  banner-blade-and  horn  and  drum... 
Upon  their  charmed  solitude: 

As  if.»each  seated  on  his  tomb. 

And  stoopii^o'er  his  shadowy  lyre 

With  trembling  finge.3  tore  awa7 

The  tendrils  that  ran  wild  in  bloom. 
Encumbering  each  golden  wire-./ 

And  faultermg-..to«ched  die  awful  lay..- 
All  energy,  and  fire... 

That  visions  of  the  war  inspire.-.. 

Whena,ltheheavenisopeningro.L, 
And  batUes  dimly  seen... 


Inerge.^  » 

rge, 

on  the  billoft 

t  foam-. 

to  his  home—      \ 
n  display! 


r  been  heard; 


«. 


BATTLE  OF  NUGARA. 

Like  clouds-in  passing  o'er  the  ground- 
Are  shadowed  on  its  green. 
When  aU  the  future  trembles-when— 

Ifnseen  but  by  the  gifted  eye- 
Tumultuous  air  sweeps  o'er  the  sky- 
Wheeling  like  coursers  giddily— 

When  every  holy  spot  on  earth,     ' 
Is  heaving  with  some  awful  birth,     ' 

And  every  grot  and  hermitage. 
And  every  lonely  place,  again— 
Is  filled  with  shapes  of  armed  men— 
And  echoes  to  their  stormy  rage- 
Reproachful  sounds— while  they  engage. 

When  all  their  ancient  spirits  hear 
The  neigh  of  steeds  encountering  near; 
The  uproar  of  the  battle— and 
The  sweep  of  the  unsparing  brand. 
Dealt  whistling  with  immortal  force—      < 
UnchanneUing  the  blood  of  tliose 
That  nature  never  meant  for  foes— 
E'en  at  the  fountain  of  its  course:— 
Of  men— who  if  they  met  at  all- 
Should  meet  in  places,  such  as  these— 
Embracing  heart  and  soul— and  faU 
In  worship  on  their  bended  knees— 
And  speak— not  with  the  battle  shout- 
As  if  their  souls  were  bursting  out— 

But  faint-and  whispering— as  tKey  were 

Assembled  by  their  God  in  pi-ayer: 
12  .  ' 


151 


Ii2 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


Oh  yes-and  they  should  ever  come, 

When  in  such  holy  spots  they  meet- 
Not  with  the  horn-not  with  the  drum- 
And  not  with  mailed-but  naked  feet! 
But  if  they  come  in  armour— they 
Should  lose  the  very  wish  to  slay— 
And  dash  their  helmets  down,  and  kneel 

Unharnessed  to  the  influence  there— 
Not  stain  and  crush  its  spongy  green 
With  crimson  tracks,  like  what  are  seen. 
Where  panthers  and  where  wolves  have  been. 

Tainting  the  cool  and  holy  air— 
'N(^t  with  the  warrior  step— but  tread 
Of  men— intruding  on  the  dead; 

Not  helmeted  and  mailed  around— 
But  with  their  gallant  hair  unbound. 
And  fiery  eye  upon  the  ground- 
Like  pilgrims  when  they  bow— alone 
Upon  some  consecrated  stone— 
With  tufted  mossing  all  overgrown— 
And  washed  with  tears  of  men  unknown— 

By  altars— rocky-hung  in  green. 
With  shelly,  brig-  .t  entablatures. 
Enduring  on,  while  time  endures. 
And  brightening  every  hour- 
StUl  thickening-clustering-more  and  more- 
All  pillared,  and  enamelled  o'er; 
With  arched  roof  and  glimmering  floor, 

Bestrewed  with  every  briiliant  flower. 
That  ever  bloomed  in  secret,  where 
The  sunset  shows  the  golden  path 


ft 


That  leads  you  to  the  sea.maid^ 


!   Knfk 


i 


I 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA 

Where  they— all  naked— glittering— bright, 
With  radiant  tresses— limbs  as  white, 
As  they  were  shaped  of  moulded  light. 

Stand  combing  out  their  glorious  haii'; 

Or,  on  the  oily  billows  play 

And  one  by  one  then  disappear. 
Like  creatures  vanishing  away— 
And  melting  in  the  hues  of  day— 
When— some  dim  eartlily  thing  is  near. 

But  away!-away!-to  the  winds  away! 

With  your  banners  of  flame,  and  give  them  play! 

The  battle  in  wrath  is  coming! 
See  how  their  moving  tents  arise— 
With  a  snowy  gleam,  in  the  purple  skies. 

Like  pavihons  of  glittering  light— 
Those  tents  are  struck!— the  signal  given! 
And  now— along  the  verge  of  heaven 

With  trumpeting  and  drumming. 
They're  harnessing  for  fight! 
And  now  their  opening  flags  arise, 
Unfurling  bravely  to  the  skies. 

And  now!— against  the  red  orb  spreading 
Their  broad,  dark  banners— they  appeatf, 
AU  tinged  with  blood— their  distant  rear. 

Against  the  light,  the  sun  is  shedding, 
Along  the  blue-edged  heaven,  stand, 
In  flaming  armour— like  a  band 

Of  giants,  downward  treading. 
13 


153 


\^li 


m 


;»*«»W»l»»s(Mf.'. 


i*  ' 


154 


UATTLE  OF  NIAGARA 


.P 


While  all  the  moving  forest  trees,  , 

Upon  yon  hill)'  summits  seem 
Approaching  in  the  misty  breeze,— 
And  o'er  the  burning  clouds  that  gleam 
Away  behind— as  if  they  were 
A  swinging  tret-work— rich— and  rare 
Embroidered  on  the  flaming  air; 
A  light,  fentastick  edging  give 
By  magick  to  the  clouds  of  heaven. 

But  away!— away!— to  th'».  winds  away! 
With  your  banners  of  flame— in  their  red  dinpl  y— . 
The  battle  in  pomp  is  coming! 

The  trumpet  plays, 
And  the  drums  are  rolled; 
The  war-horso  neighs. 
And  the  flags  unfold i 
And  the  distant  hills  are  brigUt 
With  warriors — up  in  tlieir  might — 

The  crimson  mane  of  their  helmets  aircRni, 
Like  fiery  steeds,  when  their  long  hairs  glear.i. 
In  the  fearful  light 
Of  a  reddening  fight, 
Iji  flakes  and  folds!— like  the  awful  beam 

Of  broadswords— ground  in  blood; 
They  are  up!— they  are  up!— 'tis  a  thrilling  sight; 
With  their  chargers  reined— 
Each  muscle  strained- 
Tossing  their  foam  on  the  winds  away. 
As  the  waves  of  the  ocean  fling  their  spray— 


^'i 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 

With  their  heads  in  air, 
Like  steeds  that  bear 

Young  warriors  thro'  a  flood; 
While  their  voices  break— 
(And  their  nontrils  shake. 

And  tlie  loud  horns  blow, 

And  the  banners  flow—) 
Like  a  trumpet  heard  at  night! 
W  itli  a  thrilling  neigh—as  if  to  cheer, 
'I'he  u  arriors  that  are  thundering  neaa*: 

Then  away!— away!— to  the  winds  away! 
Through  the  cloud  of  battle  rouse  your  prey! 

Fresher  and  fresher  comes  the  air.    The  blue 
Of  yonder  liigh  pavilion  swims  in  dew. 
The  boundless  hum  that  sunset  waked  in  glee; 
The  dark  wood's  vesper-hymn  to  Liberty- 
Hath  died  away.    A  deep  outspreading  hush 
Is  on  the  air — the  heavy  watery  nisli 
Of  far  off'  lake-tides,  and  the  weighty  roU 
Of  tumbling  deeps,  that  fall  upon  the  soul 
Like  the  strong  luUing  of  the  ocean  wave. 
In  dying  thunder  o'er  the  sailor's  grave: 
And  now  and  then  a  blueish  flare  is  spread 
Taint  o'er  the  western  heaven,  as  if  'twere  shed 
In  dreadful  omen  to  the  coming  dead. 
As  if— amid  the  skies,  some  warrior  form 
Revealed  his  armour  thro*  a  robe  of  storm! 

The  shadows  deepen.    Now  the  leaden  tramp 
Of  stationed  sentry—far—and  flat— and  damp— 

I  4 


155 


•< 


.       *rt- 


L  a^'^t^Sc^lJ 


'  -■•!  H'v^iii|i»i»i,mini||in,8r-, 


■  \ 


ik 


156 


I 


P'-i 


UATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


Of  ».ble  plumes  .„d  ^,^  J  J«v. 

And  tr.,li„s.,teed»-.„ith  fu„enU  11^^.^! 
And  foldi.,1  «™,.        J  .        "°""  "?"•»  betwecnr— 
AnutoIded,rms_«,db«u„j.  homs-.„d  t,e.d 
Wn>art.al  feet,  deacending  to  the  bed, 

^'•"'^''■^-'— AmbiUo„«ei    «..e 
Wove  .„  the  batUe.s.„™,  .h^ip  br„„,  to  decome. 

A  .?'!!""";  «»''"'-th"e',  a  wandering  shout 
A  «ou„d,aa:faeha.le„ge  passed  abou,  ' 

A  gun  ■>  heard!  o,  can  it  be  indeed 
That  on  a  night,  like  this,  brave  men  may  bleed' 

The  struggling  neigh  of  steeds,  asifthevmr, 
Upon  the  mountain  tops,  whe,;  cl  ud  M«  talt 
And  rearupon  the  wi„d3!  and  plunge,  and  ,^e 
The,rvo,ces  proudly  o'er  a  sleeping  lake 
A  heavy  walk  is  heard.    They  ole!  inde;d. 

A  ?T.'  ^/  "'"'  ""^''  ""=  '^''■''°»»  '«>op  is  placed- 
A    ordIyb„ner,„everyetdisg«:ed'     ' 
Bythatyounggallantt^p.    Beneath  its  fold 

Ofbluemagmficenoe,s„wideum-oUed, 


*%! 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


157 


They've  bowed,  and  sworn  upon  a  naked  blade. 
That  banner,  there!  shall  never  be  betrayed, 
TheyVe  sworn  to  bathe  it  in  their  heart's  best  blood: 
To.loosen  'neath  its  fold  their  reddest  flood. 
No  threats  escape  their  lips— that  blue  flag  flies 
O'er  the  dark  lowering  of  young  British  eyes. 
They  know  tlie  post  they  hold,  they  know  the  hour 
Is  sternly  coming  that  shall  try  their  power: 
They  know  the  Eagle  troops:  they  hear  their  tread: 
And  each  more  proudly  heaves  his  youtliftU  head: 
They  see  the  starry  banner  floating  wide: 
And  fiercer  shines  their  meteor  in  its  pude: 
Each  pla^its  his  foot:  and  each  with  steady  eye 
And  hard  drawn  breath—and  forehead  to  the  sky- 
Looks  on  the  coming  host  for  life  or  death— 
The  glittering  laurel  crown,  or  weeping  cypress  wreath. 

They  come!  they  come!— the  starry  flag  is  bright; 
Shaking  its  splendours  in  the  parting  light: 
Bi^t  martial  is  their  step.    Their  heads  are  high. 
Their  chests  heave  full.    Their  look  is  on  the  sky. 
Before  his  column  with  a  brow  serene. 
Upon  his  stately  barb,  a  chief  is  seen: 
His  head  uncovered;— while  his  flashing  eye. 
And  echoed  word,  along  the  far  ranks  fly,  ' 

With  flash  and  sound  as  brief  as  counted  musketry. 

Now  roar  the  joyous  drums!  the  trumpet-song 
Comes  swelling— rending— bursting— all  along! 
Like  the  dread  summons  by  the  Whirlwind  cast. 
When  she  sings  fiercely  in  the  coming  blast. 


I-^a 


fidkMMtt 


iMllilA 


"V*^ 


if  *  . 

t  it.-'. 


158 


I 


(  . 


%.' 


i.U 

n 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


Th»  leader  wave,  his  swonj)  the  standards  bo,., 
And  now  „„r„,  „p„„  t^^  ^j^^  "<>»'. 

Borne  s,le„tly  aloft,  they  flash  away. 

Upon  the  distant  wings,  like  heralds  of  the  day. 

Their  columns  now  unfold.    Their  martial  tread 
'!  """  '"'[  "^^'^y  -  they  wheel  and  spreS 
,     *.ow  one  deep  phalanx  in  their  slrenph  advance- 
S-kntasdeath.    Dimmed  is  the  banntglanT' 
The  nnpng:  harness  and  the  sabre's  swing." 
No  shouhng  stirs  the  blood...„„  waving  pLe 
avesGlorys  signal  in  the  thickening gC 
But  forward-forwardi    w;.k  .     i,  .    ^  ""'"• 
With  B.H1  .    '""f""'— »"•!  unshaken  tread, 
W,th  Battle's  earthquake  march,  when  shuddering  dead 
Feel  every  step  ,ha,  Ms  above  their  head.  ^ 

Wave  h,gh  their  matohes!-.And  they  stand  as  still 
As  ,t  they  knew  they  stood. upon  thi  tomb. 
And  some  deep  lips  and  cheeks  now  lose  th.ir  K, 
Batnotftomfear-oriftheydid-Jh     L*:"'"™ 
Thejr  courage  .s  the  soul'sl-they  are  the  men 
Thatye  may  trust  to  in  the  hour  of  need: 
The,r  hps  may  fade  'tis  true,  but  they  wiU  bleed 
Where'er  they  settheir  foot,  until  their  s„ul!tVreed. 

N,w  peals  the  thronged  artillery!_Far  and  wiJ. 
Beyond  tke  stariy  flag  its  thundeiTridei  "'* 

No  answer  from  the  foe 

raused  not  a  moment  as  that  voUey  speU 


I  •.  I 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA.  159 

Again  the  tempest  pours!    In  rushing  fire, 
Agfain  the  thunders  roll ! 

But  all  the  liigher 
Floats  the  striped  flag— in  triumph  and  in  pride; 
Like  the  red  rainbow  o'er  the  glimmering  tide. 

Still  onward  come  its  guards:  determined — slow: 
Mounting  as  if  to  grapple  with  their  foe 
Within  his  cloud:  While  their  battalions  spread. 
And  close,  and  open  with  the  same  strong  tread. 
Revealed  in  light.    That  tempest  lightl—it  strayii 
In  one  wide  sheet:  uninterrupted  blaze! 

Still  onward  come  this  band.    Still  no  reply: 
Withholding  all  their  might  till,  eye  to  eye. 
They  tread  the  summit  of  that  quaking  mount. 
To  quench  that  stormy  hght— that  ^tnean  fount: 
Then  will  the  clouds  depart,  and  ye  will  see 
The  Eagle -standard  floating  far  aftd  free; 
And  gallant  warriors,  on  the  naked  ground. 
In  prostrate  adoration — to  the  sound 
Of  bursting  trumpets,  and  of  neighing  steeds: 
And  waving  helms,  whose  reeking  plumage  bleeds 
With  life  of  gallant  hearts,  that  heave  around 
In  agony  to  hear  the  brazen  trumpet's  sound. 

Now  comes  the  bursting  strife.    The  answer  peala! 
Forth,  in  a  blaze  of  fire,  their  squadron  wheels? 
Now  rolls  the  battle!    Fades  the  lightning  sheet! 
The  charge  is  given!    Bayonets  v/ith  buyoivets  meet; 
And  struggUng  hearts  with  hearts:  and  fiercely  ris" 
Contending  shouts  and  spirits  to  the  sties. 


■V 


iMtMOMMlJIIll 


"«»*iw**.. 


160 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


"I  n 


Neighings  grow  faint.    The  cannon's  thunder  dies; 
Red  Slaughter  shakes  her  storm-plumes  o'er  tlie  slain. 
And  flaps  her  reeking  flag— but  all  in  vain— 
For  standards  bow!— and  steeds  fly  o'er  the  plain!     ■ 
'Tis  done;  the  strife  is  o'er.    The  clouds  are  gone— 
The  starry  flag  is  floating  there.alone. 

And  is  the  battle  won?  the  struggle  o'er? 
O,  no!— the  trumpet  song  and  cannon-roar 
Have  but  begun;— the  night  shall  wear  away 
E'er  banners  blazing  in  their  red  display, 
And  flashing  plumes,  and  helmets  glancing  bright. 
Reveal  the  conquerors  to  the  dazzled  sight. 
Then  ye  shall  see  the  shattered  warrior-blade— 
The  banner  rent;-quenched  plume-and  steed,  that 

neighed. 
Like  the  fierce  trumpet,  when  the  battle  pealed, 
With  all  his  furniture  upon  the  field, 
Bedimmed  in  gallant  blood!    Then  ye  may  know 
Who  were  the  conquered;— they  will  ail  lie  low. 

Far  now  the  wet  folds  of  the  red-cross  wave; 
SUU  leaning  towards  the  strife -full,  high,  and  brave; 
Still  rolls  the  wide  artillery;— still  the  light 
Rushes  in  boding  thickness  from  that  height— 
But  other  hands  direct  its  thunder  now; 
The  rainbow  flag  is  there,  with  sheeted  flow, 
And  they  with  silent  tread>  and  cool,  determined  brow. 

Amid  the  fading  light  on  tliat  red  ground. 
An  aged  warrior  lies,  and  pours  a  sound 


■  ■aSStesSrjawMiiwiWteu,.^ 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


161 


That  tells  of  battle  yet;  and  feebly  tries 
To  staunch  his  ebbing  wound;  to  clear  his  eyes; 
And  think  once  more,  distinctly,  of  his  home: 
But  all  in  vain!  a  dark,  and  darker  foam 
Comes  from  his  heart;  and  now  his  dying  hand 
Is  once  more  stretched — but  not  as  in  command- 
No! — not  as  if  it  dealt  a  warrior's  brand — 
And  lightened  thro*  the  war! — but  more  in  prayer— 
As  if  some  child,  that  he  would  bless,  were  there: 
Convulsive— sudden — gfrasping!  -  towards  the  heaven 
'Tis  reached — like  one—whose  last,  last  stay  is  riven: 
Not  waving — no! — but  closing  as  it  goes. 
As  if  it  sought  another's-  not  a  foe's! 
And  now  it  feebler  drops — and  now,  ag^n,— 
'Tis  lifted  as  in  prayer;  but  all  in  vain; 
He  cannot  bless  his  child!— his  strength  is  gone—- 
The  damps  of  death  are  on  his  brow;— his  tone 
Of  miUTnuring  supplication — dies  away— 
And  both  his  bloody  hands  are  in  his  locks  of  grey. 

And  near  him— planted— with  the  glittering  eye, 
Of  sudden  madness — rolling  awfully,  — 
A  youthful  form  is  seen— with  hands  that  press 
Upon  his  bosom— fixed  and  motionless! 
Now  staring  on  the  armour  strown  around. 
As  in  a  trance:  now  listening  to  the  sound 
Of  ruffling  banners,  as  they  loosely  wave, 
Like  one  that  rises— armcd<-frora  his  grave 
In  fierce  rebuke.    And  now— have  mercy  heaven! 
He  staggers — waves  his  arm — his  white  brow  riven. 


'^^^^^■1 


^iVI 


mmmmm 


162 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


ri  I'- 


ll 


Jl'eWl  plume  nodding  i„.=(.,„4^ 
And  now  he  sU.i, ^„^,  ^„^y  /**';• 

Ag^n  he  wave,  hi,  a™._,„d  sZuL^-„ 
He  stands  as  if  h«  era-on^ri  .  ,        ^^'" 

Sobs  manv  ^  h«  i  sulphurous  aip 

many  a  broken  cry,  and  many  a  prayer 
fc>oldier?,  andg-reatnnr^e    „  Player. 

Wi.ode.uhf.l^IrSl'"'''     . 

The  b,tuec„„e»  again.    The  charging  host 

SiutingZ  '1        ;"'  '""'^"''""  ">  Fame; 
-V  ely  .Mr  ba,  *''  ?"T"  '"  ^'"■"'  '^  «--- 
AUve  Li        ^     " "  """""*  outspread- 
'  *»'rmeteor,andtheirshr„ud^he„  dead 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


163 


that  nod!— 


)row 


ssness: 
■ry... 

in 

wane, 
■  in  vain;— 


an^  dies, 
oul — 

ip 

i, 

»ng  blade 

i^rapped  in 

ist 

It. 

le. 
Id. 


The  tumult  deepens.    Swell  conflicting  cries--. 
Neigh  the  loud  steeds,  and  hurried  sobs  arise.  ' 

Shakes  the  dark  hill  with  cataracts  of  fire: 
Up  go  that  army  to  their  blazing  pyre! 
The  cannon's  voice  is  mute.     The  lightning  sheet 
Grows  dim  again.    Warriors  with  warriors  meet; 
And  wrestle  fiercely  in  their  rolling  cloud. 
Again  the  mountain  shakes!  again  the  light 
Comes  thundering  loudly  down— the  starry  flight 
Of  spotted  drapery  is  abroad  again. 
And  neighing— plunging— o*er  the  clouded  plain. 
Goes  many  a  fiery  barb  with  crimson  reeking  mane: 
Agam  the  meteors  of  the  war  are  bowed: 
Again  the  mountain  heaves  beneath  its  shroud: 
Gushes  with  quenchless  light,  and  shakes  and  storms 
aloud. 

So  darkly  clouded  was  that  hill  with  smoke, 
Save  when  the  vast  artiilery-day-Ught  broke, 
It  seemed  a  midnight  altar.    From  its  gloom 
There  came  the  noise  of  strife— as  from  a  tomb. 
And  then,  distinct,  amid  the  spreading  light. 
Were  seen  the  struggling  champions  of  the  fight, 
In  silent— desperate— dreadful  bayonet  strife; 
The  midnight  slaughter!  when  the  hero's  life— 
Tihe  high-stem  summons  that  he  gives  his  band— 
His  waging  falchion- and  extended  hand — 
His  towering  plume^his  charger's  bloody  mane — 
The  battle-anthem  and  the  bugle  strain- 
Are  beamless — lifeless!  heard  and  seen  no  more: 
Thus  'tis  when  bayonets  hush  the  camion's  roar, 


I 


"""^mp^mmm 


164 


BATTLE  OP  NUGARA. 


\'  \ 


The  blading  would  be  gone!  and  with  it,  lo! 
These  darkly  wrestling  groups  would  come  and  go. 
Like  wizard  shapes  at  night-upon  the  snow- 
That  gutters  to  the  moon,  upon  some  mountain's  brow. 

So  stood  the  battle.    Bravely  it  wag  fought. 
Lions  and  Eagles  met.    That  hiU  was  bought. 
And  sold,  in  desperate  combat.    Wrapped  in*  flame. 
Died  these  idolaters  of  bannered  Fame. 
Three  times  that  meteor  hill  was  bravely  lost- 
Three  times  'twas  bravely  won;  while  madly  tost. 
Encountering  red  plumes  in  the  dusky  air- 
While  Slaughter  shouted  in  her  bloody  lair- 

And  spectres  blew  their  horns,  and  shook  their  whistling- 
hair.  ^ 

A  long  and  dreadful  pause.    No  sound  is  heard 
But  the  fresh  rustling  of  a  mighty  Bird, 
That  sat  upon  the  banner  of  that  host: 
That  Eagle  of  the  8trife!~when  tempest  tost, 
The  boy,  that  rides  sublime  the  mountain  waves. 
Looks  on  that  Bird  in  prayer.    The  Bird  that  laves 
Her  sounding  pinions  in  the  sun's  first  gush- 
Drinks  his  meridian  blaze  and  sunset  flush: 
Worships  her  idol  in  his  fiercest  hour: 
Bathes  her  full  bosom  in  his  hottest  shower: 
Sits  amid  stirring  stars,  and  bends  her  beak. 
Like  the  sUpped  falcon-when  her  piercing  shriek 
Tells  that  she  stoops  upon  her  cleaving  wing. 
To  drink  anew  some  victim's  clear-red  spring. 
That  monarch  Bird!  that  slumbers  h^.  +Jie  night 
Upon  the  lofty  air-peak's  utmost  >= eight: 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


165 


mnd  is  heard 


Or  sleeps  upon  the  wing— amid  the  ray 

Of  steady—cloudless— everlasting  day! 

Rides  with  the  Thunderer  in  his  blazing  march: 

And  bears  his  lightnings  o'er  yon  boundless  arch: 

Soars  wheeUng  thro'  the  storm,  and  screams  away 

Where  th6  young  pinions  of  the  morning  play: 

Broods  with  her  arrows  in  the  hurricane: 

Bears  her  green  laurel  o'er  tlie  starry  plain— 

And  sails  around  the  skies,  and  o'er  the  rolling  deeps, 

With  still  unwearied  vnng,  and  eye  that  never  sleeps. ' 

The  rusthng  of  the  silk  alone  is  heard. 
Where  burns  that  soldier  idol— mountain  Bird! 
And  the  deep  groans  of  dying  men,  who  heave 
Their  last  sad  prayer;  of  those  who  bleed  and  grieve, 
In  shattered  manhood,  on  the  hloody  path. 
That  led  where  Glory  sat  in  stormy  wrath; 
The  faint,  low  watchword— and  the  thronging  tramp— 
The  ringing  harness  of  the  distant  camp: 
And  the  flood  anthem  on  the  night  winds  blown. 
Sullen  and  heavy  as  the  Thunderer's  tone. 
When  far  amid  the  Alps  his  chariot  rolls. 
And  the  high  mountain  quakes:  and  the  far  poles 
Rock  in  their  outspread  canopy  of  cloud- 
When  seas  heave  darkly  in  their  tempest  shroud, 
And  everlaiiting  hills  are  echoing  aloud. 


K 


■■-J.: 


Canto  y. 

^'"'^^''^ appearance  of  the  fieU funeral  hdn 

ouM..   parade....  interment camp death  of  the  Hei* 

his  father  and  wife. 


•Hi 


4* 


BATTliE  0¥  JtlJ\.GAB.A. 


CANTO  v; 

THE  battle  is  o'er!— and  the  night  il  past— 

The  battle  is  o'er! 
The  clouds  tb  At  were  rolling  away  on  the  blast, 

With  the  warrior-hehn,  and  the  steed's  redmanei 
j^ave  vanished  away. 
With  the  coming  of  day, 
Or  lie  all  along  on  the  verge  of  the  plain, 
And  are  seen  no  more. 
The  battle  is  o'er! 
The  battle  is  o'er! 
And  the  men— and  the  steeds-andthe  banners  there-- 
Crowding  and  thronging  in  the  blazing  air. 
Have  all  disappeared  in  its  crimson  glare— 
The  battle  is  o'er! 

And  the  morning  comes. 
With  the  cannon  roar, 
And  the  roll  of  drums; 
With  the  furling  of  flags—and  the  stooping  of  hehns->. 
With  weltering  manes— like  staeds  that  have 

pMt 

.\  torrent  at  night— exhausted— cast 


»t».<iiei<«MiWiiiaM<MialMiMtHaBMaMi*«i'' 


•.•««%(SE-^'-'«^»f:-«fWSS?!S^ 


mKmmmammm 


168 


SIX 


BATILE  OF  NfAUAKA. 


ind  clotted  mant-s, 

wiu.':i;r„nr''''-'-""'' '■''-'•' blood, 

"re  cnmson  fo.::  .,ng  Aqq^  .  * 

But  .iie  war  is  o'er! 
On  that  silent  shore, 

Andthcvulturethatshriekedinthe„i,hti»,ore^ 
And  glutted-hath  fled  ^ 

From  the  banquet  of  dead- 

Nomoreye-U  hear  «,ef„ri„„,  drum 
Rolling:  aloud  delirium- 
But  the  «eed»  that  have  neighed  .hro,.,^  „,, 
That  .und  with  their  sinews  oniv. 

The..  ntan^enrri^"' 

Shall  gpo  forth  undisturbed- 

Unharnessed-uncurbed- 

f'or  ever  and  aye  to  the  fight? 

AbXtt^;T:n;i'''r'^^-''bw.. 
With  uXTher.7ri "''"  ""^"'"^  =^" 

Of  tangled  roses:  o'er  the  hill  of  war 


■*«B»'!WWI«»»«f 


BATTLE  OF  NIAGARA.  m 

She  thro-vd  her  mantle,  kindling  on  the  sight. 
With  all  the  hues  of  hearen's  own  rainbow-lights 
Ot  woven  jasper— threaded  sapphire— gold: 
And  sunshine —pearls— embossed  upon  its  fold— 
And  thickening  gems:  a  diamond  ftag  unrolled! 

The  sheathless  weapon  glimmers  cm  the  sight: 
Pale  cheeks  and  sunken  eyes  once  more  are  bright— 
But  not  witii  life,  O,  no!-— their  souls  have  flown: 
Their  last  dread  trump  amid  the  fight  was  blown. 
Their  fea*her8  glance  again;  an  idle  red 
Burns  o'er  tlieir  prostrate  forms  and  bloody  bed. 
Here  was  the  deadUest  strife!  this  youthful  group 
Are  the  last  remnants  of  a  martyred  troop. 
Here  their  young  banner  waved!  and  here— they  feU! 
There  lies  that  banner!— let  its  fragments  tell, 
Yet  grasped  in  death— if  'twas  defended  well. 
The  rich,  green  sward  is  scarred  with  leaping  hoofs; 
And  all  along  the  field  are  seen  the  proofs 
Of  soldier  rivalry.    And  where  ye  tread 
Along  the  hill,  the  very  turf  turns  red. 
As  'twere  surcharged  with  blood:— while  all  about— 
As  from  an  o'er-pressed  sponge,  there  issu  s  out 
A  thickening  purple— settling— eddying  where 
The  print  of  charging  hoofs  have  laid  the  green  all  bare. 
Filling  the  footsteps  of  unwounded  men 
With  bloo  I— dark  blood— that's  ne'er  absorbed  again. 
And  round  about— opposing  plumes  and  crests 
Of  snow  and  crimson  lie  —the  reeking  tests. 
That  prove  where  soldiers  met — and  strove — and  died! 
In  pairs  they  lie — embracing— side  by  side. 


I 


]■ 


T-9.    AT 


m 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


The  bleetlinjf  banner  anri  th.  ^        • 
re.  struggUnj.^  "^.  .nd  „•„  the  X 

Andi<„„e„.„.He„Mhi.o.u™rt„^,^,, 
O,  there's  no  mockery  like  th^  ^ 

Like.  red. „,t«„„.ba„.„  „„*„: 

'    .^'^'".^  ""■"><'»»■''->.  o'er  a., lent  fount 
S-mm.„,i„  feverish  ,p,e„d„„r.„h„e^t„ 
Butthe,inorecept«in,  where  the  l„^fh  ' 

'^"ere  Hope  i,  strctohe"  ^  dl^  r/r'"- 
durells.  "*'  "nd  Desolation 

As  on  a  mountain  altar,  thicic  are  laid 
These  «,rfn,ffht  victin,s  to  the  Battle,  hi- 
^«.n  .n  the  darkness,  by  an  unseen  hand- ' 

XHehannerstretchin, dark,and  float  ;tk,„eed. 


ii    i. 


BA'rrLE  OF  NIAGARA. 


171 


Hear  ye  tliat  sound?  'twould  make  the  itoutest  quail: 
It  is  the  moming^Iamentation— wail 
Of  outbreathed  hearts,  that  load  the  morning  air; 
Of  those  who  kneel  among  the  dead  in  prayer,— 
Collecting  relicks— locks  of  bloody  hair. 
Who  thinks  of  battle  now?  The  stirring  sounds 
Spring  lightly  from  the  trumpet,  yet  who  bounds 
On  this  sad— still— and  melancholy  mom. 
As  he  was  wont  to  bound,  when  the  fresh  horn 
Came  dancing  on  the  winds;  and  pealed  to  heaven! 
In  gone-by  hours,  before  the  battle-even?  "^ 

The  very  horses  move  with  halting  pace: 
No  more  they  heave  their  manes  with  fiery  grace— 
With  plunge— and  reach-  and  step  that  leaves  np  trace? 
No  more  they  spurn  the  bit,  and  sudden  fling 
Their  light  hoo&  on  the  air!  The  bugles  sing; 
And  yet  the  meteor  mane,  and  rolling  eye 
Lighten  no  longer  at  their  minstrelsy. 
No  more  their  housings  blaze:  no  more  the  gold, 
Or  purple,  flashes  from  the  opening  fold; 
No  rich-wrought  stars  are  glittering  in  their  pride 
Of  chanting  hues:  all— aU!— is  crimson-dyed. 
They  move  with  slow— far  step:  they  hear  the  tread 
That  measures  out  the  tombing  of  the  dead: 
The  cannon  speaks-  but  now,  no  longer  rolls 
In  heavy  thunders  to  the  answering  poles. 
But  bursting  suddenly,  it  calls,  and  flies— 
At  breathless  intervals  along  the  skies, — 
As  if  some  viewless  sentinel  were  there. 
Whose  challenge  peals  at  midnight  thro*  the  air: 
R3 


( 


£ 


172 


BATTLE  OP  NIAGARA. 


I'^n'. 


B-t  snuffs  the  tainted  hv„  '"°'■^• 

Shuns-as  in  reverele   "h      "T°"'  '^'"'••■ 

^-»o„e,„n„/„,:rret:!r;  . 

Then,  with  unequal  sten  h.  c    ?  ^^''^^  ^y- 

Anao„,the^~::;;p-;.^^.- 

-es..ate,i„M,st,en,thl,ess::.Vi„,,^,,^ 

Now  Shouts  the  trump  ag-ain'    Th.        , 
Drums  travel  loud»    ..^  The  muskets  ring! 

ioud!...and  merry  busrles  sin  p.* 

"•'T;i;^"-'"'^---''eS..a„ne. 
The  brawlinc  T         ^       ""  ""^^ried  dead: 

MustsCtirsrr:'"^'""-'"-"'-'. 
ora.,thst'.ad:^^s::':scf' 


If    * 


I 


■^!  *feiyf'3i£si,l'5SaM?^,-.' 


eds  its  roar: 
'  no  more: 
'ifts  his  head-.. 
ous  tread— 
y  dead: 
e:eye, 

"he  passes  by. 
the  ground, 
found— 
venng  sound, 
bier 
'  a  tear, 
e  there — 
i  bosom  bare— 

ij  eye, 

y;_      . 

^  in  liis  pride 

niuskets  ring! 
5  sing! 

unhow  banners 


Horning  red 
iead: 


BATTLE  Ot  NIAGARA. 


173 


■toned  fife, 


prayer; 


And  consecrate  their  bloody  swords  to  peace; 

And  caU  for  mercy,  loud;  and  never  cease 

Their  supplications,  till  the  God  of  Heaven 

Had  offered  them  some  sign  that  murder  was  forgiven. 

Come,  Glory,  come!  Let's  chant  the  soldier's  dit^- 
Step  from  thy  thrones,  and  from  thy  clouds  emerge!, 
Bring  thy  black  cypress  clotted  in  the  shade; 
Of  weeping-willow  let  a  wreath  be  made. 
To  crown  the  warrior-browi  that  lately  sought 
Thy  battle-laurel:  him  who  lately  fought  / 
Eeddest  and  fiercest,  where  the  war-god  sung; 
Where  the  loud  death^sobs  came,  and  f^chions  rung; 
Twine  him  a  heavy  garland!  steep  it  weU; 
And  mutter  o'er  its  gloom  thy  darkest  spell; 
With  broken  heart-strings,  be  it  twisted  round; 
Tread  it  in  wrath  upon  the  soaking  ground; 
And  where  the  stagnant  blood  lies  deepest,  there 
Complete  thy  curse— the  chaplet  of  despair! 
CaU  back  his  spirit  from  the  eternal  bar: 
Show  him  that  clotted  foliage— talk  of  v^ar; 
Wake  thy  swift  bugle,  let  it  sing  away 
Freshly  and  clear,  Uke  clarion  of  the  day! 
Loosen  thy  banners  on  the  mount'»in  wind; ! 
Call  up  thy  thunders!  —while  thy  hot  hand  binds, 
That  wreath  around  his  mad,  consuming  brain- 
Tell  him  'tis  his  reward!  —will  he  complain 
Of  wasted  life— of  bloody  band  arrayed 
In  sacrifice  for  thee?— when  blade  met  blade; 
Ar  \  man  met  man,  and  like  the  desert  beast, 


{        > 


If  • 


lamaf 


mim 


^^mi 


174, 


BATn.E  OP  NUGARA. 


That  bleeds  aiid  battles  'till  his  breath  ha«  ceased; 
Toiled  dark  upon  the  mount  to 
feast 


the  yvdtmettf 


i 


A  solemn  march  is  heard:  a  measured  tread*. 
Banners  are  furied  again-and  o'er  the  dead 
By  martial  hands,  the  crimson  pall  is  spread' 
A  band  on  foot  approach,  they  bear  a  form 
Like  the  rent  mountain  oak,  that  braves  the  storm-. 
Heaves  its  young  branches  to  the  raging-  skies- 
Receives  the  Thunderer's  holt-and  prostrate  lies? 
Whence  js  that  band^-and  whose  the  form  they  bear 
With  high-pale  brow,  and  darkly  clustered  hair? 
That  hair  is  wet-but  not  with  dews  of  night- 
Its  lifeless  length  was  loaded  in  the  fight 
Disfigured-motionless-with  bosom  bare-^ 
And  arm-still  .tretched  abroad!-he  slumbers  there 
He  was  careering  in  the  hottest  fight- 
His  black  barb  leaping  in  his  stormy  might; 
His  banner-floating  loudly  on  the  ear 
As  If  some  mighty  Bird  were  hovering  near: 
His  starry  troops  were  conquering  at  his  side; 
Thcr  plumes  were  blazing  in  their  fiercest  pride^ 
When  suddenly-his  heart?-^its  lordly  swell 
Was  gone  for  ever!-as  he  dimly  fell 
His  hand  once  stretched  his  sabre  to  Lis  foes' 
His  form  dilatedi-more  erect  he  rose'- 
H;s  dark  eye  flashed  once  more!-but  flashed  in  vain- 
U.S  wounded  chargerfelt  the  loosened  rein- 
Felt  the  strong  hand  that  grasped  his  bloody  mane- 
And  spran,^  to  bear  him  o«!«One  desperate  bound- 


■^^^SflS^ 


BATTLE  OP  N'IAGARA. 


175 


one  gallant  neigh  he  gave! — and  on  the  ground 
Stretched  his  dark  limbs— triumphantly— and  died! 
On  tlie  Made  battle  field— in  warrior  pride; 
Far  from  the  noise  of  strife,  and  by  his  master's  side. 


Kn&w  ye  that  form — those  features— and  that  air? 
Pave  ye  e'er  seen  that  thickly  clustered  hair? 
That!— was  the  brown-cheeked  youth,  with  eye  of  fire, 
Who  rode  a  courser  like  the  winds.    His  sire 
Bows  proudly  o'er  his  course.    His  bloody  bier 
With  precious  dew  is  bathed — the  cold  sad  tear^ — 
The  heart's  last  offering!  o'er  those  ruins  fall. 
That  lie  concealed  beneath  a  bleeding  pall: 
And  one  is  there,  whose  trembling  hands  are  prest 
In  desperate  calmness  on  her  swelling  breast: 
Whose  mute — pale  lip — whose  sadly  wandering  eye 
Speaks  more  than  sorrow — suffering — agony!— 
While  gazing  tearless  on  the  form  before  her; 
f  ATHEK  OF  MERCiBsr  Father!  Oh,  restore  her! 


j      *k^ 


\ 


EW 


I' 


i' 


/ 


'I 


I 


m>M>A^% 


om 


THE  ^AXIAC  HARPEH. 


(fl 


\^ 


\ 


t  i 


r 


TO  THE  READER. 


{ 


THIS  story  is  not  a  fictionj— the  principal  circum- 
[stances  stand  on  record.  On  the  3d  of  September,  1806, 
about  sunset,  the  Spitzberg,  a  part  of  mount  Rosburg* 
in  the  canton  of  Schweitz,  Switzerland,  slid  from  its 
base;  and  from  a  height  of  more  than  two  thousand  feet, 
overwhelmed  three  whole  villages,  and  upward  of  fif- 
teen hundred  peasants;  leaving  the  rocks  all  naked  ih 
its  path,  and  transforming  an  extensive  valley  into  a  hill. 
!  Among  the  villages  destroyed  was  Golsav,  the  most  ro« 
i  mantick  and  beautiful  of  the  three. 


GOliDA^U*. 


OR  THE  MANIAC  HARPER. 


UPON  a  tranquil — glorious  night, 
When  all  the  western  heaven  was  bright; 
When,  thronging  down  the  far  blue  dome« 
The  sun  in  rolling  clouds  went  home;— 
There  wandered  to  a  goatherd's  cot, 
A  youth — who  sought  to  be  forgot: 
Who  many  a  long  and  weary  year 
Had  breathed  his  prayer  and  shed  his  tear. 
Beneath  his  look  of  cloud  was  seen, 
Somewhat,  that  told  where  fire  had  been; 
For  yet,  a  sorrowing  beam  was  there: 
A  beam— in  mockery  of  despsdr: 
A  beam  that  gave  enough  of  light 
To  show  tus  soul  had  set  in  night. 
His  step  was  slow— his  form  was  bowed: 
But  yet  his  minstrel-air  was  proud: 
tJpon  the  mount^n  height  he  stood. 
And  looked  abroad  o'er  wave  and  wood 
Vet  glowing  with  the  blush  of  even, 


I  »M' 


»i 


t^'.-ii- 


182 


GOLDAU. 


Andansweringto  the  hues  of  heaven, 
With  such  a  melancholy  grace 

He  seemed  as  thus  he  stood  alone. 
Like  some  young  prince  upon  his  throne^ 
i  he  gemu«  of  the  lofty  place! 

He  wore  high  plumes-a  gUttering  vest- 
And  to  his  half  uncovered  breast. 
An  antique  harp  was  strongly  prest: 
And,  ever  and  anon,  its  strings 
Gave  musick  to  hi«  wanderings- 
While  he  would  pause  to  see  unrolled, 
Oer  heaven's  blue  arch,  the  crimson  fold- 
And  purple  plumes,  and  wings  of  fire- 
Andvisions->till  his  trembling  lyre 
Would  shake  a  distant,  thriihnln'oTe, 

Like  3ome  sweet  pipe  in  heaven  afloat, 
And  then  as  calmly  die  away 
As  sunset  hues  in  fading  day- 
As  rose-tints  on  the  quiet  stream 
Awakened  by  a  passing  beam: 
As  flashing  wings  that  flit  in  play 
Around  the  couch  ofinfant  day • 

As  songs  that  Evening  hears,  when  all 
Are  hstening  to  the  quiet  faU 

Ofairy  melodies,  that  come. 

Prom  heaven,  in  one  sweet  murmuring  hum 

f^,'f"°^^P--e,ando'eritbend! 
As  ifit  were  his  only  friend: 
And  he  would  send  it  trembling  ,„u„d-. 


GOLDAU. 


IIS 


With  touch— so  magical  and  free- 
So  full  of  sweet  simplicity— 
And  tenderness— and' ecstacy— 
It  seemed,  indeed,  no  earthly  sound. 

And  those  who  heard  him  as  he  leant 
Upon  its       fly  wires,  and  sent 
His  agitated  voice  away. 
In  feeling's  broken  roundelay — 
Would  wonder— weep— and  hold  their  breath. 
As  if  they  heard  the  hymn  of  death: 
And  when  the  spell  was  broken — gone- 
Its  sad  enchantment  all  withdrawn — 
Would  smile  to  see  the  trembling  tear 
On  other  downcast  lids  appear — 
Nor  e'er  suspect  themselves  had  given 
A  tribute  to  these  sounds  of  heaven! 
And  all  who  heard  him  then,  believed 
That  he  had  loved — and  been  deceived: 
Or  seen  the  stooping  willow  wave 
Its  tresses  o'er  a  loved  one's  grave: 

For  such  his  melancholy  song. 
That  every  listener's  heart  was  weeping 
Like  youthful  lovers,  when  they're  sleeping 

In  sorrows  that  they  would  prolong. 


But  those  who  heard  the  voice  he  sent 

When  battle  was  his  theme: 
Who  saw  his  gorgeous  vestment  rent — 
His  quenchless  eye — the  lights  that  went 
Beneath  his  brow  of  gathered  might,    ^ 
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Photographic 

Sciences 
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23  WEST  MAIN  STRbST 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  :4580 

(716)  872-4503 


f/j 


184 


GOLDAU. 


I  I 


Like  meteors  that  gaforth  at  nighty 

In  one  continual  stream! 
And  thbse  who  heard  his  ardent  cry» 
And  all  his  harp -strings  pealing  higln 
Who  saw  his  stern,  Qplifled  brow — 
His  sweeping  arm— his  vestment  flow— 
The  heaving  of  his  youthful  chest, 
Beneath  his  mailed  and  ^littering  vest— 
Who  marked  the  martial  belt  that  boimd 
His  youthful  form  so  closely  round — 
His  attitude— so  proud  and  high— 
With  look  uplifted  t6  the  sky— 
And  outstretched  arm,  and  waving  hand. 
As  if  it  shook  a  conquering  brand — 
And  high  plumed  bonnet— nodding  low. 

Whene'er  he  ti*od,  as  if  it  gave 
To  some  young,  supplicating  foe, 

A  rescue  o'er  an  opening  gravel- 
Yes!  those  who  saw  all  this/,  would  feel 
Enthusiasm  o'er  them  steal 
So  unexpectedly, — they  stood. 
Like  men,  who,  'mid  a  solitude, 

Have  heard  a  sudden  trumpet-peal! 


Their  hearts,  would  swell  and  they  would  rise- 
And  stand  erect  with  flashing  eyes— 
And  toss  their  arms  unconsciously—* 
And  join  the  shout  of  rJctory! 
And  when  the  summons  died  away, 
Like  battle  at  thfc  close  of  day, 


■'^1 


GOLDAtX. 


m 


Would  feel>-as  they  had  been  in  fight« 
And  wearied  with  their  deeds  of  might: 
Would  stand  entranced — or  start,  and  seem 
As  bursting  from  a  stomiy  dream: 
Or  gaze  with  troubled  air  around, 
And  wonder  whence  that  trumpet  sound! 
And  whither  it  had  flown!— or  hear 
The  tumult  yet — distinct  a^id  clear- 
Now  pealing  far — now  rin^ng  near. 
And  rattling  on  the  startled  ear!  * 
As  if  a  host  had  stooped  f'rom  heaven 

Upon  the  winds  that  blow  at  night; 
And  all  their  harps  and  trumps  had  given 

A  fiirewell  to  departing  U^ht! 


And  then,  the  glitter  of  each  eye, 
That  kindled  at  his  minstrelsy — 
That  Ughtened,  when  the  echoing  blast 
Far  o'er  the  hills  in  triumpl^  past; 
That  varied  with  the  varying  note 
Upon  the  eddying  air  afloat — 
Would  with  that  varying  note  decay.     , 
And  melt  so  peacefully  ^way. 
That  each  who  saw  his  neighbour's  cheek 
The  tumult  of  his  soul  bespeak — 
And  saw  the  maddening  lustre  die; 
There  reddening  like  an  angry  sky— . 
And  saw  each  upright  youthful  form 
Awake  like  genii  of  the  storm, 
With  lifted  brow  and  threatening  air, 
While  pealed  the  battle  anthem  there*^ 


m 


ii 


•--^»ri" 


wmtm 


mmm 


186 


GOLDAU. 


And  saw  it,  as  that  anthem  died. 
Lose  ail  its  stateliness  and  pride; 
With  yielding  port  and  fading  eye—- 
And  heard  his  furious  shouting  die: — 
Would  wonder  that  himself  had  been 
So  undisturbed! — and  so  serene! 
And  this  would  be— while  yet  he  stood 
In  that  delicious  solitude 
When  youthful  hearts  feel  all  alone- 
Alone  amid  the  world! 
When  Phrensy  leaves  her  radiant  throne^ 
And  all  her  singing  troops  have  flown: 
And  all  their  wings  are  furled! 

And  this  would  be  while  yet  the  fire 
Enkindled  by  that  wondrous  lyre. 
Was  quivering  on  his  dowiK;ast  lash» 
Just  like  the  dying  tempest-flash! 
And  those  who  felt  their  bosoms  swell 
Beneath  the  working  of  his  spell: 
Who  felt  that  young  enchanter's  might, 
Whose  incantations  woke  the  fight. 
And  taught  to  peasant-hearts  the  feeling 
That  mounts  to  b'^ar  the  trumpet  pealing, 
Then— deemed  t^  .i  youthful  minstrel  there. 

Familiar  with  the  strife  had  been: 
And  that  his  sad,  appealing  sur— 
His  darkened  brow — ^his  bosom  bare — 
His  haughty  port  of  calm  despair — 
Enthusia^n — genius  were— 

And  never  but  in  warriors  seen! 


^-A  ,*i  .i^t*-^,  #*  .  ■•"'  ^i  .•».. 


msm 


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V  * : 


w^n 


Si**      1 


GOLDAtJ. 


w 


fiut  those  who  knew  him,  knew  full  well 
I'hat  something  terrible  once  fell 
Upon  his  heart,  and  froze  the  source, 
Whence  comes  enthusiasm's  force — > 
Something  of  icy  touch  that  chills 

The  heart  drops  of  our  youthful  years: 
Something  of  withering  strength  that  kills 

The  flowers  that  Geniusi  wets  with  tears- 
Fetters  the  fountain  in  its  flow: 
Mildews  the  blossom  in  its  blow: 
And  breathes  o*er  fancy's  budding  wreath 
The  clotting  damps  of  early  death: 
That  spreads  before  the  opeiyng  light— 

(The  sunshine  of  the  heart!) 
A  cloud  that  tells  of  coming  night  j 
And  chills  the  warblers  in  their  flight. 
That  twinkling  gaily  to  the  skies. 
With  piping  throats  and  diamond  eyes. 

In  unfledged  strengtii  depart 


Something— but  what  was  neter  knowti; 
Something  had  pressed  his  pulses  doWn: 
Blasted  the  verdure  of  his  spring: 
Shorn  the  gay  plumage  of  his  wing; 
Silenced  his  harp,  and  stilled  his  lyre: 
Heaped  snow  Upon  his  bosom's  fire — 
And  caught  away  the  wreath  cf  flame, 
That  hovered  o*er  his  youthful  name; 
Obscured  his  sun—and  wrapped  the  thtone 
Where  glory  in  her  jewels  shone, 
L2 


188 


',  I 


J 


€OLDAU. 


For  ever  from  his  searching  gaze: 
And,  on  his  brain,  in  lightning  traced 

The  suffering  of  his  youthful  da>si 
Where  Madness  had  with  clouds  erased 
The  characters,  that  Rapture  placed 

Upon  his  heart  and  soul  in  blaze! 

'Tis  true  that  tliere  were  thtwe  who  saw- 
And  whispered  what  they  said  in  awe- 
That  nought  beneath  the  skies  but  guilt' 
Nought  but  the  cry  of  blood  that's  spUti— 
Could  sounman  a  form  so  young— 
A  heart  so  high  and  firmly  strung: 
But  such—whene'er  tliey  saw  his  eye 
Uplifted  to  the  dark-blue  sky 

In  such  a  generous  confidence —  ' 
When  night  was  forth— would  feel  a  tear— 
And  in  their  virtue  would  appear-. 

More  fearful  of  Omnipotence! 

His  faded  plumes,  and  vestment  torn. 
Were  less  like  tliose  by  minstrels  worn. 
Than  like  the  gai-b  of  youthful  knight; 
Caparisoned  for  glorious  fight; 
Equipped  beneath  his  lady's  eye 

To  couch  his  lance  for  chivalry: 

To  charge  in  tournament  or  strife— 
For  wreath  or  scarf-for  death,  or  life- 
And  once,  'twas  said,  his  full,  black  eye. 
When  a  young  war-horse  bounded  by-^ 


i'-^tF. 


tK)LD^U. 


m 


M 


a 


ied 


)saw- 

ilt' 
Iti- 


ar— 


Awoke  at  once!— and  lightnings  keen, 
As'on  the  falchion's  point  are  seen — 
When  sudden  dawn  amid  the  fight, 
flashed  forth!— then  vanished  from  the  sight. 

And  darkened  into  tears! 
And  dimly  o*er  his  brow,  there  past 
A  shade  of  memory— *twas  the  last— . 

And  Qrst  for  many  yQara. 

Yes— something  once  had  touched  his  bndn-o 
With  fire— but  he  would  ne'er  compltdn— 
Had  misery  left  him'with  the  power 
To  tell  the  suffering  of  that  hour:— ^ 
Bat — as  it  was,  the  fearfUl  cause 
Of  all  the  scenes  that  madness  draws— 
That  curse  of  Genius? — all  that  awes?— 
That  reft  his  heart — and  bowed  his  pride. 
To  him  was  known— to  none  beside: 
And  all  he  knew,  was  but  a  dreanq 

4 

Of  sleepless  agony: — the  beam. 
That  shone  upon  his  maniac  way. 
Was  but  the  melancholy  ray. 
That  plays  o'er  churchyards,  when  the  Night 
I^eveals  her  phantoms  to  the  sight: 
'Twas  but  the  lurid,  wandering  beam:— 
The  troubled  lightning  of  a  stream; 
Or  stricken  armour's  hasty  gleam; 
'Twas  but  the  light  that  meteors  shed; 
That  faintly  watches  o'er  the  bed. 
Where  Desolation  guards  the  dead: 
L3 


4 


'  I 


190 


GOLDAU. 


h 


The.  splendours  of  t^ie  storm,  that  show 
Temples  and  monuments  laid  low; 
And  altars  shattered  by  that  God 
Whose  thunders  roU  but  once-whose  nod 

But  once  in  wrath,  is  ever  given— 
When  temples  faU— and  spires  are  strone; 
And  Empire  totters  from  her  throne; 
And  prostrate  Idols  bow  ^o  heaven! 

Such  is  the  awful  Ught  that  plays 
Around  his  steps!  the  meteor  blaze 
That  goes  before  Destruftion's  path! 
That  follows  the  Destroyer's  wrath. 
When  o'er  the  blessed  earth  are  seen. 
Their  footsteps  in  the  blasted  green; 
And  pyramids  and  statues  throWn 
In  ruin  o'er  the  earth— o'srgrown 
With  savage  garlands— living  wreaths 
Of  creeping  things— while  poison  breathes 
From  every  chaplet— every  crown— 
And  every  wonder  that  is  down- 
As  if  in  mockery  of  their  power— 
The  dread  immortals  of  an  hour: 

As  in  derision  of  their  strength. 

Thus  prostrate-rent-andstrown  atlength. 

Such  is  that  nunstrel's  memory  yet; 

The  very  page  he  should  forget, 

Of  all  the  volume  of  his  days, 

Is  ever  opened  in  its  blaze! 

And  all  the  rest  is  from  his  sight 

Enveloped  in  eternal  night! 


) 


jhow 


ose  nod 
strone; 
en! 

'S 

;e 
th! 

h, 

een, 
en: 
I 

eaths 
I  breathes 
11— 


rn  at  length, 
ret; 


GOLDAU. 

» 

The  ruins  of  his  hopes  are  seen. 

And  ruins  only! — all  the  rest — 
That  in  their  days  of  light  have  been. 

Are  darkly  shrouded  in  his  breasts 

His  sufferings,  and  his  home  unknown; 
A  madman— and  a  minstrel— thrown 
Upon  the  barren  mountain,  goes 
Unharmed,  amid  his  nature's  foes: 
Protected  by  the  peasant's  prayer. 
He  wanders  through  the  dark  woods,  where 
Abides  the  she-wolf  in  her  lair: 
Such  prayers  are  his— « re  his  for  ever! 
And  ne'er  will  be  refused— O,  never!  , 

For  never  yet,  there  shone  the  eye, 
Could  let  him  pass  unheeded  by; 
And  every  heart— and  every  shed. 
Gave  welcome  to  that  maniac's  tread: 
And  peasant-babes  would  run  to  cbeei* 
His  footsteps,  as  he  wandered  near: 
An4  every  sunny  infant  eye, 
Grew  sunnier  as  his  step  came  nigh: 
And  when  he  went  at  night  alone. 
Where  mighty  oaks  in  fragments  strown. 
Proclaimed  the  revels  of  the  storm- 
He  went  in  safety:— o'er  his  form 
There  hung  a  mute,  but  strong  appeal, 
That  those,  who  rend  the  clouds,  might  feel; 
Unharmed,  upon  the  cliff  he'd  stand, 
And  see  the  Thunderer  stretch  his  wand, 
L4 


191 


193 


GOLDAU. 


il 


And  hear  his  chariots  roll; 
And  clap  his  hands-and  shout  for  joy?.. 
Thus  would  that  glorious  minstrel-boy: 

When  hghtnings  wrapped  the  pole! 
And  he  would  toss  his  arms  on  high, 

In  greeiing  as  the  arrows  flew: 
And  bare  his  bosom  to  the  sky; 
And  stand  with  an  intrepid  eye. 
And  gaze  upon  the  clouds  that  past, 
UpPoUing  o'er  the  mountain  blast,  ' 

And  wonder  at  their  depth  of  blue;~- 
Then-wildly  toss  his  arms  again. 
As  if  he  saw  the  rolling  main; 

And  heard  some  ocean-chant  anew: 
As  if-"Upon  each  passing  cloud. 
He  saw  the  Tempest  harping  loud    ' 
Amid  her  fieiy-bannered  crew. 

The  tempting  precipice  was  hidden; 
The  angels  of  the  storm  forbidden 
To  strive  upon  his  wasting  frame— 
The  powers  of  air!  enrobed  in  flame-.- 
Whose  thrones  are  everlasting  hills, 
Whose  army  all  creation  fills: 
Who  ride  upon  the  roaring  main; 
,  And  listen  to  the  battie  straui; 
The  thunders  of  the  deep,  and  song 
Of  trumpets  bursting  all  along. 
When  streamers  flash,  and  banners  blaze. 
And  tall  plumes  bow,  and  lightning  strays 


ipp" 


mmm» 


CiOLDAU. 


Its 


O'er  Ocean's  dull-blue  billows; 
And  far  amid  the  clouds  are  seen. 
Young  angels*  hands,  that  twine  the  gt*tn 
Of  laurels  dripping  gallant  blood, 
With  8  ?a-weed  from  the  stormy  flood, 

And  thunder-blasted  willows. 

The  sunset  wa^:  his  favourite  hour: 
Ilia  eye  would  lig^t— his  form  would  tow  er; 
And  kindle  at  departing  day. 
As  if  its  last,  and  loveliest  ray 
Would  win  his  very  soul  away; 
And  there  were  those,  who,  when  he  stood. 
Sublime  in  airy  solitude. 
Upon  his  mountain's  topmost  height. 
With  arms  outstretched,  to  meet  the  light— 
With  form  bowed  down,  as  if  it  were 
In  worship  to  the  fiery  wr; 
Who— had  he  been  from  eastern  climes, 
From  sunnier  hills — in  earlier  times— 
When  thus  he  bowed  him  to  the  sky- 
Had  charged  him  with  idolatry: 

For  when  he  bowed  he  bowed  in  truth: 
His  adoration  was  the  thought. 
And  worship,  that  from  heaven  is  caught 

When  genius  blossoms  in  its  youth. 

'Twas  feeling  aU,  and  generous  love— 
The  reaching  of  the  soul  above:^ 
The  intellectual  homage  pure. 
That  is  sincere,  and  will  endure: 


wmmmm 


iP^pm 


IM 


GOLDAU. 


It  wa»  the  offering  of  the  h«art, 
The  soul-andpuhc— and  every  part, 
That's  noble  in  our  frames,  or  given 
To  throb  for  suns,  or  sUw,  or  heaven; 
The  spirit  that  is  made  of  flame, 
For  ever  mounting  whence  it  came: 
The  pube  tliat  counts  the  march  oi  time,* 
Impatient  for  the  call  sublime. 
When  it  may  spring  abroad — away— 

And  beat  tfie  march  of  endless  day 

The  heart,  that  by  itself  is  nuret. 
And  heaves,  and  swells,  'till  it  haih  burst: 
That  never  yields— and  ne'er  complains— 
And  dies— but  to  conceal  its  pains. 
And  the  bright,  flashing,  glorious  eye 
For  ever  open  on  the  sky. 
As  if  in  that  stupendous  swell 
It  sought  a  spot,  where  he  might  dwell, 
And  pant  for  immortality. 

» 
That  minstrel  watched  when  others  slept, 
But  when  the  day-light  came— he  wept 
For  tho'  a  maniac,  he  could  see 
That  sunshine  sports  with  misery; 
He  dwelt  in  caverns;— and  alone—  • 

Held  no  communion,  but  with  one: 
And  that  was  but  a  peasant's  child, 
A  young  enthusiast;— a  wild 
And  melancholy  g^rl,  whose  heart 
Was  subject  to  his  wondrous  art— 


-* 


^m 


ne, 


PSt: 


lept. 


GOLDAU. 

She  waa  a  «>ad  and  lonely  one, 

And  she  too  loved  the  evening  «un: 

The  twilight  mantle  when  ita  blue 

Is  dropped  with  light,  and  wet  with  dew: 

When  watery  melodies  find  birth. 

And  heaven  itself  seems  nearer  earthi 

She  never  led  the  mounttun  race; 

She  never  joined  the  insect  chase; 

Or  left  her  solitary  place. 

To  join  the  dance,  or  trill  the  song: 

Or  o'er  the  cliffs  to  bound  along; 

But  all  alone— in  silence,  where 

The  rocky  cliff  stood  cloudless— bare— 

With  folded  arms,  and  loosened  hair— 

And  robe  abroad  upon  the  air— 

And  turbaned  wreath  and  streaming  feather, 

Would  stand  for  hours  and  hours  together! 

And  listen  to  the  song  tliat  came 

Tumultuous  from  a  neighbouring  height, 
And  watch  that  miristrel-boy  in  flame. 

While  harping  to  the  god  of  light. 

That  wild  one  had  a  feeling  heart! 
And  when  the  minstrel  would  depar^ 
To  wander  o'er  the  hills,  and  stray 
Upon  the  beetling  cliff— his  way. 
By  mom  and  noon,  in  sun  and  shade. 
Was  lighted  by  that  dark  eyed  maid: 
And  when  he  trod  a  dangerous  height. 
Her  shout  would  lead  the  wanderer  righV- 


195 


-4» 


GOLDAtJ. 

And  he  vould  then  submissive  turn 
And  smile  as  if  he  felt  her  cave-    ' 

And  when  they  met,  hJs  cheek  would  bunr. 
As  if  he  knew  what  led  her  there. 

No  other  voice  could  stay  his  course: 
Her  s  was  the  only  earthly  force 
To  which  he  yielded,  when  he  went 
In  worship  towards  ^he  firmament. 
She  saw  beneath  that  cloudy  air 
The  heart  of  flame  imprisoned  there: 
For  every  glance  that  left  his  eye 
When  pealed  his  bursting  nunstrelsy 
And  every  shout  he  sent  away. 

When  woke  his  stormy  battle-lay. 
And  every  sweeping  of  his  hand,' 
Showed  one  accustomed  to  command- 
And  then-the  sounds  he  alwavs  chose 
In  tempest  or  ir  tears,  were  those 
That  only  generous  hearts  can  feel 

And  only  generous  hearts  conceive- 
For  they  were  still  the  chalienge-peaU- 

Or  lordly  spirits  stoop,  and  grieve. 

These  were  his  everlasting  themes- 
And  these  the  echo  of  his  dreans- 
The  neigh  of  steeds,  the  bugle  cry 
Of  battle  or  of  victory, 
Tl  .e  roar  o."  wind-.and  rush  of  water; 
The  bla.e  of  heaven-cry  of  slaughter-,. 


•       GOLDAXT. 

The  thunders  of  the  rolling  deep 
Whose  monarchs  rousing  from  their  sleep, 
putatretch  their  sceptres  e'er  the  wuve 
And  caU  their  spirits  from  the  j^rave:— 
When  every  billow  starts  to  life. 
Contending  in  the  foamy  strife— 
For  diadem  of  dripping  green. 
Entwined  by  Ocean's  stormy  queen. 
These  were  for  aye,  his  chosen  themes; 
But  he  would  sing  full  oft,  it  seems. 
With  tendered  touch,  and  tenderer  note 
Such  airs  as  o'er  the  waters  float- 
When  symphonies  of  evening  rise 
In  whisper  to  the  listening  skies— 
And  swell  and  die  so  soft  away— 
We  think  some  minstrel  of  the  day 
Is  piping  on  its  airy  way; 
Or  some  sweet  songstress  of  the  right 
Waves  musick  from  her  wings  in  flight: 
A  lulling— faint— uncertain  song— 
That  but  to  spirits  can  belong: 
To  happy  spirits  too— and  none. 
But  those,  who  in  the  setting  sun, 
Expr-nd  their  thin  bright  wings,  and  darting, 
Spin  musick  to  their  god  in  parting: 
Who  has  not  heard  these  quiet  airs 
Come  like  the  sigh  of  heaven,  that  bears 
A  soothing  to  his  toiling  cares? 
As  if  some  murmuring  angel  guest. 
Within  his  void  and  echoing  breast. 
Were  fanning  all  his  thoughts  to  rest? 


197 


/ 
I 


\(»W"*-  ^.~<  *•■ 


198 


GOLDAU. 


Who  has  not  felt  when  sound?  like  these. 
Like  prayers  oflovers  on  the  breeze- 
Came  warm  and  fragrant  by  her  cheek. 
Oh.  more  than  mortal  e'er  may  speak!* 
As  if  unto  her  heart  slie'd  caught 
Some  instrument,  that  to  her  thought 
Gave  answering  melody  and  song. 
In  murmurings  like  an  airy  tongue: 
And  echoing  in  its  insect  din. 
To  every  pulse  and  hope  within. 

Had  set  her  thoughts  to  fairy  numbers' 
Or  if  she  ne'er  has  fancied  this. 
This  doubtful  and  bewildering  bUss- 
Has  she  not  drbpped  the  lingering  tear. 
And  Fancied  that  some  one  was  near^. 
Invisible  indeed,  but  dear— 

The  guardian  of  her  evening  slumbers! 

Such  were  the  sounds  thatye  would  hear 
When  that  strange  boy  would  call  the  tear: 
A  deep  and  low  complaining  tone- 
Like  lover's  vows,  when  all  alone. 
Upon  some  budding  green  he  kneels, 
And  listens  to  the  sound  that  steals 
From  some  fresh  woodbine-lattice  near. 
When  all  that  to  his  soiU  is  dear, 
Is  at  her  grateful  vesper  hymn—' 
When  bright  eyes  in  thdr  prayers  grow  dim- 
Sounds  faintly  uttered  <-half  suppressed- 
^ike  fountains  whispering  to  the  blest:— 


GOLDAU. 


199 


Or  the  subdiung  smothered  tones 
That  sob  upon  the  air  like  groans, 
Of  those  who  broken-hearted  bend 
Before  some  youthful- gallant  friend: 
Of  those  who  kneel,  and  hold  their  breathy 
By  loved  ones  touched  with  sudden  death: 
Or  sounds  hke  chanting  from  a  tomb, 
When  spirits  sit  amid  the  gloom 

And  melancholy  garlands  weave; 
And  twine  the  drooping  lily  wreath— 
And  withered  wild-flowers  from  the  heath, 
To  crown  the  maiddn  brow,  that  lies 
Unkissed  by  Nature's  mysteries: 
To  sprinkle  o'er  a  virgin's  bed 
The  blossoms  that  untimely  shed- 
Have  budded— flourished  to  deceive. 


\     > 


'    That  girl  with  rich  dark  hair,  was  wild 
As  Nature's  youngest,  freest  child: 
As  arUess— generous— and  sincere — 
As  blushes  when  they  first  appear— 
Or  Rapture's  unexpected  tear: 
Hers  was  the  sudden  crimson  flush. 
And  hers  the  rich  spontaneous  gush 
Of  hearts,  when  first  in  youth  they're  prest, 
And  can't  conceal  that  they  are  blest: 
Her  downcast  eye,  and  pale  smooth  brow: 
The  heaving  of  her  breast  of  snow: 
The  murmuring  of  her  voice    and  tread 
That  faultered  in  its  youthful  dread-.— 


200 


GOLDAU. 


Would  ever  to  the  eye  reveal. 
What  all  but  mountain  nymphs  conceal: 
And  she,  before  that  boy,  would  stand 
With  lifted  brow  and  outstretched  hand- 
As  if  she  felt  a  holy  awe;- 
And  all  her  heart  was  in  her  eves. 
And  all  her  soul  would  seem  to  rise- 
While  thus  she  stood  for  hours,  and  gazed 
Upon  that  minstrel  boy-amazed 
At  all  she  heard-and  aU  she  saw. 

She  knew  the  dreadful  reason  why 
He  dwelt  upon  the  sunset  sky; 
For  once  as  they  together  stood 
Above  the  torrent  and  the  wood; 
In  breathless— sunny  solitude— 
To  see  the  ruddy  clouds  of  even 
Go  blushing  o'er  the  yault  of  heaven: 
The  richest-warmest— loveUest  scene 
That  had  for  many  an  autumn  been:— 
There  came  a  sullen  labouring  sound, 
As  if  an  earthquake  rose  around: 
The  nunstrel  uttered  one  low  cry 
Of  sudden-thrilling  agony— 
And  clasped  his  hand*  with  look  of  fire— 
And  threw  away  his  antique  lyre— 
And  caught  the  maiden  to  his  heart, 

And  bore  her  down  the  hill! 
Oh,  who  may  now  the  strength  impart 
To  check  that  laadman's  will! 


m 


GOLDAU. 


201 


Where  is  the  arrow  or  the  bow:— 
The  Thunderer's  bolt-to  lay  him  low. 

Sent  forth  by  heaven  in  wrath! 
The  lightning  shaft,  that  fiercely  thrown, 
Hath  brought  the  mountain  spoiler  down, 

In  ruins  o*er  his  path! 
Have  mercy  heaven!— his  desperate  course, 
Is  like  the  stormy  torrent's  force, 
When  forth  from  some  high,  cloudy  steep, 
In  foaming  light  'tis  seen  to  leap;— 

Now  bursting  on  the  eye! 
Now  flashing  darkly  on  its  way 
And  flinging  now,  its  fiery  spray- 
In  rsunbows  to  the  sky! 
Thus— thus  the  ravisher  went  forth; 
like  meteors  o'er  the  cloudy  north: 
Thus— thus  the  desperate  boy  went  down, 
Jn  splendour  o'er  the  mountain's  brown: 
His  vestment  streaming  farbehind, 
And  guttering  in  the  rushing  wind: 
His  dancing  plumage  tipped  with  light. 
Like  eaglets  in  their  loftiest  flight- 
As  now  he  darted  on  the  sight. 

And  met  the  sun's  last  rays:— 
Now  hidden  in  the  forest  shade- 
Emerging  now— and  now  betrayed 
By  plumes  that  in  the  sunset  played; 
And  robe  tiiat  seemed  to  blaze! 

But  once  she  caught  his'eye  of  flaWie; 
But  then!— O,  how  distracting  came 
M 


308 


GOLDAU 


ller  self-reproach,  for  ail  that  led 
He  •  iieart  to  watch  a  madman'i  tread! 
Still—still  he  bounds  from  cUff  to  cliff.^ 
I  ike  some  light  vaulting,  airy  akiff-. 
Upon  the  stormy  billows  tost,- 
When  all  but  hope  and  faith  are  lost; 
Still—still  he  plunges  on  his  course; 
Still  straining  on  with  maniac  force»- 
From  rock  to  rock,  as  if  he  were 
Some  spirit  spotting  on  the  air: 
Unconscious  of  the  dying  maid. 
That  on  his  naked  breast  is  laid— . 
Her  hair  flows  loose—her  dark  eyes  close, 
Fled  is  the  faintly  breathing  rose. 

That  lately  tinged  her  cheek: 
Sudden  her  dread  descent  is  staid- 
One  bound!— his  lifeless  charge  is  laid 
Upon  a  bank,  and  he  is  near. 
Half  kneeling' in  his  maniac  fear: 
And  now  she  moves!— her  head  she  raises- 
She  starts,  and  round  in  terror  gazes.~ 

With  wild  half-uttered  shriek— 
For  lo!  before  her  bows  a  form. 
Like  some  young  genius  of  the  storm— 
And  while  she  gazes  on  his  eye, 
Uplifted  in  idolatry. 
She  hears  a  stranger  speak! 

Gone  is  the  madman's  savage  air— 
His  pale  denouncing  look  isgone.:^ 


QOLPAU. 


ieo3 


His  port  of  sullen,  calm  despair.** 
And  g^ne,  indeed,  the  madman's  tone! 

His  cheek  burns  fresh-'-his  eye  is  bright. 

And  all  his  soul  breaks  forth  in  light! 

His  steps  is  buoyant/and  lus  hair 

Is  lightly  lifted  by  the  sdr; 

And  o'er  his  reddening  cheek,  and  eye, 

Upraised  in  feverish  ecstacy. 
Is  blown  so  carelessly,  he  seems 

Some  youthful  spirit  se  at  from  high, 

Clad  in  the  glories  of  the  sky>- 

With  locks  of  living  shade,  that  6otv 

About  a  brow  of  driven  snow; 

Or  like  the  forms  that  pass  at  night. 

Arrayed  in  blushing  robes  of  Ught, 
In  Fancy's  sunniest  dreams. 

And  but  that  still  his  well-known  tears, 
And  faded  vestment  quelled  her  fears. 
She  had  believed  the  form  that  knelt. 
Whose  maniac  pressure  yet  she  felt. 
Was  not  the  minstrel  boy  that  went 
In  worship  to  the  firmament: 
She  wondered— wept— and  breathed  one  prayer- 
Then  felt  in  more  than  safety  there: 
'Ellen!'  he  faintly  said,  and  smiled. 

As  prostrate  at  her  feet  he  knelt— 
'Ellen!'— again  his  eye  looked  wild^-- 

\gain  he  rose—as  if  he  felt. 


(V'' 


''%^ 


"  L'Sfcg:"SgTnriMTrr;:  imwwwi— 


^04, 


GOLDAU. 


h 


And  would  assuage,  some  sudden  pain» 
That  darted  through  his  rocking  brain: 
He  paused— and  o'er  his  throbbing  brow-»« 
His  hand  went  doubtfiilly.  Mid  slow- 
Indignant  brushed  a  fidhng  tear. 
And  saw  that  dark-eyed  gM  appear 
In  awful  loveliness,  and  youth. 
Enthusiasm— tears~«and  truth* — 
And  then  was  bent  that  maniac's  pride. 
His  arms  dropped  lifeless  at  his  side- 
In  Nature's  own  supremacy— 

And  Youth's  tumultuous  feeling— 
Already  in  his  ecstacy. 

The  maniac  boy  was  kneeling^ 
When  once  ag^n— a  lightning  pjun—    * 
Went  flashing  through  his  clouded  brain. 

Where  Reason  was  revealing: 


It  went,  and  then  a  deeper  night 
Succeeded  to  its  blading  flight. 
The  maniac  sprung  erect  from  earth, 

And  tossed  his  arms  abroad  in  air- 
Like  some  young  spirit,  at  its  birth-' 

Some  nursling  of  the  fiend  Despain 
Uttered  one  thrilling,  dreadful  cry. 
And  darted  towards  the  darkening  sky 

One  fierce  reproachful  look; 
Gathered  his  mantle  round  his  form, 
And  then,  like  those  who  rend  the  storm. 

His  upward  course  he  took. 


GOLDAIT. 


^% 


The  tftrife  was  o'er!— he  was  again 
The  min8trel>boy»  with  maniac  brains 
The  strife  was  o'er!— the  madman's  air 
Returned  for  ever— and  Despair 
Hath  hung  her  ctoudfor  ever  there! 
Agun  he  climbs  the  mountain's  height: 
Agun  he  hub  departing  light: 
Again  hit  soul  is  forth  in  strength: 
Again  his  vestment  flows  at  leng^; 
Again  the  mountun-echoes  ring: 
Again  bis  harp  is  wandering: 
Agidn  his  chords  are,  wildly  strung>~> 
And  tliese  the  measures  that  he  sung! 

THDB  MINSTREL'S  SONd. 

Ye  who  would  hear  a  mournful  song, 
.Such  as  the  desert  bird  may  sing, 
When  duling  on  her  languid  wing. 
By  sunny  cUiFs  and  lifeless  woods— 
And  silent  blooming  soUtudes~- 
And  watery  worlds---and  cloudless  hills- 
Unmurmuring  founts  and  sleeping  rills- 
She  hears  on  high  the  distant  note. 
Of  some  sweet  airy  tune  afloat— 

That  to  the  birds  of  heaven  belong! 

Ye  who  have  heard  in  the  still  of  the  night. 
When  the  soul  was  abroad  in  her  uppermost  flight. 
The  whispering  of  trumpets  and  harps  in  the  air. 
M2  ,       ' 


/ 


30$ 


GOLDAU. 


Who  have  heard,  when  the  rest  of  the  world  we,^ 
•sleep,  I  ' 

A.  ye  8«  .U  .lone  o'er  the  meuureleM  deep. 

The  .pints  of  crth  «vl  of  he.ven  .t  prayer- 
OTien  the  ««,  of.be  «r,  „dthe  ^  of  the  w.t«, 

Were  pe«ef«l  ^  bright  „  .he  i„„oee«t  b.™ 

When  the  «,„jof  the  wind  a,  it  feebly  .ro«, 
W.th  the  gush  of  the  fount«n  whose  n,eIody  «ow. 
For  hearts  that  aw^e  when  the  world  «^  ^  wT 

C«ne  over  your  soul  like  the  a«  of  the  blest. 
When  ye  bought  ye  could  he.r  fi»„  the  height  of 

TOe  musiek  of  pe.ceg«i„g  tenderlyby- 
The  g,Wye  had  loved!-„d  the  .on^/e  h«l  t»gh. 

Ye  who  would  love  such  aiiy  aouM       ' 
As  listening  soUtude  prolong,, 

The  moon-hffht  trembles  to  the  earth' 
And  angel  melodies  find  birth; 

And  niusick  sighs  in  h6r  echbless  home' 

Come  ye  and  listen!  I  will  sing 
What  led  my  senses  wandering. 

Or,  would  he  hear  the  rending  song ' 

Bursting  tumultuous'/ along? 

The  PhaUenge-char^e^and  pealing  cry-. 

And  shock  of  annies-.when  on  high 


.M 


GOLDAU. 


SOT 


ofthd  world  wcr© 

:less  deep, 
5r  at  prayer! 
tars  of  the  water, 
innocent  beam 
iest  dream: 
feebly  arose, 
ose  melody  flow*, 
orldareatrest, 
if  the  blest: 
«)m  the  hei^t  of 

lyby^ 

ngrye  had  taught 


blue  dome, 
h! 

ss  home? 


cry—, 


Broad  crimson  banners  flaunt  the  sky— 
/   d  sabres  flash— and  helmets  ring— 
And  war-steeds  neigh-and  bugles  sing- 
When  comes  the  shout,  they  fly!— they  fly! 
And  echoing  o'er  the  dark  blue  sky 

The  cannon's  thunder  rolls! 
When  all  the  heaven  is  rolling  shade— 
And  lightnings  stream  from  every  blade 
Eevealing  airy  shapes,  arrayed 

In  strife,  with  warrior-souls! 


Thus— thus  he  'woke  his  harp  s^^; 
A  strange  enthusiastick  strain; 
And  kneeling  on  the  naked  ground, 
Filled  all  the  mountain  echoes  round: 
Then  swept  the  chords,  as  if  to  raise 
The  spirit  of  departed  days! 
That  harper  had  tm  audience  there — 
In  heaven,  and  earth,  and  in  the  wr! 
Then,  bending  o'er  the  chords,  he  smote 
A  thronging— bold—exulting  note— 
And  stood  erect!— then  flashed  the  wires! 
Then  came  the  stormy  clash  of  lyres! 
And  had  ye  heard  the  rolling  song. 
So  full— triumphant— and  so  strong— 
Ye  never  had  believed  that  one 
Thro'  such  a  boundless  theme  could  run. 
It  was  the  noise  of  countless  wings! 
Of  countless  harps! — with  countless  strings; 


r       •*      4u~ 


mx.t' 


■^^s^igmm"""^- 


COLDAO. 

Of  »M.«-h,n.„i„g  when  it  come. 

l/ponthertifdngbree^eofnighL 
Inf«w.lUu,U,ed^i„gUgh.. 

In  youth's  bola-heartedrevel^-. 

And  wom^g^,  before  the  sight, 
m  wry  pageantry  and  light, 

^Vithahawl  and  high-ptaed  bonnet  aashir 

VVithhghtly  springing  melody. 

Then  shook  the  wir^s!  and  an  along 
The,«  went  the  huntsman*,  bugle-Lir. 
And  up,  aloft  its  silveiy  cry     ^    '^"«^' 

Ban  olea,  and  far,  and  cheerily! 
And  then  the  pipe!  while  o'er  the  skv^ 

Where  laughing  babes  were  heaM  to  fl7 
Sweetbells,^gi„^,,^^^^^      *^«y» 

H«  song  is  heard-^a  full  dark  eye 

And  cheek  of  health's  own  mountain  dye 
A«.b„^hteningtohisminstrelsy,      '* 
A  heart  ,ssweUing,a„d  the  sigh 
That  hngers  as  it  passes  by  " 

Proclaims  entrancing- ecstacy! 
And  these  are  now  tl.e  words  he  sings-. 
That  leap  so  proudly  from  his  stringf 


COUUl/. 


909 


mes 
fht, 

ners  blazer 

*«i  dashing-M 
free 

It, 

bonnet  flashir 


ong 
e-8ong.' 


le  sky~. 
i  to  fly, 

rl 
•f 

«n  dye, 


THE  MINSTREL. 

Oh  waken,  my  Harp!  to  th«  marchingof  song! 

Oh  scatter  the  clouds  that  »m  brooding  around  thee; 
Look  forth  in  thy  might,  while  the  tempeift  is  strong. 
Nor  reel  m  thy  strength,  as  thou  movest  along, 

SMbiixf.  J  on  V  s  windib  wher?  my  young  spirit  found 
thee! 

U,  louaea  thy  numbers  in  pride. 

Let  them  triumph  along  on  the  tide, 
That  bears  the  lasthnka  of  the  fetters  that  booed  thee! 
Away  with  the  pall  that  envelops  thy  form! 
Abroad  o*er  the  hills  let  thy  genius  stormi 

O  burst  the  bright  garlands  that  shrine  thee: 
0  scatter  tliy  jessamine  blossoms  in  air! 

And  the  Tempest  herself  shall  twme  the*, 
Of  tlie  long  wild  grass,  and  the  mountain's  r»nk  htif— 
A  wreath  that  is  worthy  the  brow  of  Despair! 
Such  chaplets  at  night,  in  the  wind,  I  have  seen, 
On  the  rock-rooted  fir,  and  the  blasted  green. 
That  tell  where  Uie  anger  of  heaven  bath  beent 
When  a  thick  blue  light  on  their  barrenness  hungi 
When  the  thunders  pealed,  and  the  cliff-tops  rung; 
And  the  bending  oak  in  the  cold  rain  swung. 


The  Harper  paused— the  clouds  went  past. 
In  pomp  upon  the  rising  blast: 
Tile  Harper's  eye  to  heaven  is  riused, 
And  all  the  lustres  that  had  blazed, 
M4 


; 


"^asf^i^MB, 


'""■>iM8r**"~ii-iirr"fiiiMiit^'i''- 


210 


fiOLDAtr. 


In  triumph  o*ei  his  palUd  brov, 
Have  withthi  suaset  faded  now; 
And  now  Mb  eye  returns  to  earth. 
And  solcuin  me'odieg  have  birth» 
And  ah  a  distant  utcumful  sounds 
Goes  wandering  thro'  ths  caverns  round 
Such  symphonies  we  sometimes  heard 
From  some  sweet  melancholy  bird 
That  sings  her  twilight  sorig  alone. 
As  if  her  heart  sent  forth  a  tone:— 
In  summer  dreaming,  ye  may  hear 
Such  singing  gently  pass  the  ear. 
And  hold  your  breath  »till  it  hath  gone— 
,    Then  wonder,  f»s  the  song  is  done. 

That  ye  can  be  so  soon  alone: 

Or  start  to  find  the  glittering  tear 
Upon  the  mossy  turf  appear;— 
Or  in  your  visions,  when  ye  see 
Some  angel.harp,  in  ecstacy. 

Awakened  by  an  ange!  wing. 
When  every  plume  of  glittering  light. 
Unfolding  to  the  dazzled  sight, 
Goes  faintly  o'er  some  quiet  string! 

Wild  sounds  but  sweet!  the  silky  tune 

Of  fairies  playing  to  the  moon; 

The  sprightly  flourish  of  the  horn, 
That  underneath  the  blooming  tliorn. 
Pipes  sharply  to  the  freshening  morn; 
The  threaded  melodies  that  sing 
From  blosisomed  harps  of  cobweb  strings 


i  ¥ 


'^Ki**^- 


\ 


GOLDAU. 

The  busy  chirping  minstrelsy, 
Of  Evening's  myriads  in  their  gleej 
When  every  bright  musician  sings 
With  voice,  and  instrument  aftd  wings: 
When  all  at  once  the  concert  breaks— 
A  multitude  of  tingling  shakes!—* 
When  guttering,  miniature  guitars, 
And  harpa,  embossed  with  diamond  stars, 
ll«4quipped  vfiih  fiery  wings,  take  flight 
In  musjck  past  the  ear  of  Night; 

When  all  around. 

Ye  hear  the  sound 
Of  wind;'  bugles,  plucked  while  blowing, 
^ti-own  loose  upon  the  stream,  and  going, 

In  sweet  farewells. 

Like  living  shel's. 
Or  fountauns  singirg  while  they're  flowing. 

Of  golden  straws —and  slippery  shells; 
Ofsounding  pebbles— coral  shells— 
And  flow'ret  trumps  with  dewy  rims. 
Where  one  perpetual  murmur  swims; 
As  if  jiome  s^wiftly  passing  sound. 
Were  caught  within  its  airy  round;— 
And  droppings  like  the  tinkling  rain 
Upon  the  crisped  leaf— and  strain 
Of  dainty  wheat-stalks,  split  and  singing; 
And  insect-armour  sharply  ringing; 
And  chirp  of  fairy  birds  in  flight,— 
Qne  endless  tune,  like  some  young  spright. 


m 


1-1'-*; 


■«>•  i.%*«Wn  Jii«v«W«P" 


.•«i 


MMPNi 


••nMi 


¥  ■?■ 


GOLDAt. 


• 


That's  twittering  on  from  mom  'till  night. 
With  living  drums,  and  many  a  fife,-— 
Of  martial  littleness  and  life, 
And  fine  thin  whistling  tunes  from  graSSj 
Turning  its  edge  to  winds  that  piss; 
And  all  the  sweet  fantastick  sounds, 
That  linger  un  enchanted  grounds: 
When  elfins,  prisoned  in  a  flower. 
Are  listening  to  the  twilight  shower, 
And  mock  its  sounds,  and  shout,  and  play 
Full  many  a  faury-minstrel  lay- 
To  pass  their  dreaiy  time  away. 

Now  h<e«ive8  the  lyre  as  if  oppressed— 
And  panting  now,  subsides  to  rest, 
Like  rapture  on  a  majden*s  breast; 
Or  like  the 'struggling  sounds  tliat  rove, 
When  boyhood  tells  its  earliest  love: 
Or  like  those  strange  unearthly  lyres. 
Whose  hearts  are  strung  with  unseen  wire8| 
That  wake  but  to  the  winds  of  heaven— 
The  breezes  of  the  mom  and  event 

That  mounting  to  the  rosy«kies, 
Like  sky-larks  on  their  freshest  wing, 
For  ever  mount,  for  ever  sing, 

Louder,  and  louder  as  they  rise. 


km- 


J 


Now  mdely  comes  the  song  again, 
A  thronging  and  impatient  strain. 


.^r- 


GOLDAU. 


S19 


night. 


8* 


md  play 


jsed— 

et 

eS, 

een  wilreSi 

Rveti— 

»» 


THE  MINSTREL. 

jflcave  darkly  now  my  harp— friends  of  wiy  lonely  how) 

Cold  swell  thy  numbers! 
Away  with  the  trumpet  gong— the  wintry  requiem  pour. 
The  hymning  fox  the  dead— tlie  rush  of  chur^hyix;^ 
shower— 

For  she  who  loved  thee! 
She  who  moved  thee! 
She  who  proved  thee! 
In  darkness  slumbers! 
p,  who  has  not  felt,  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 

The  breathing  of  some  one  near  to  himi* 
The  waving  of  some  soft  angel  plume— 

A  vision  of  peace  in  an  hour  of  gloom 

While  a  nameless  wish  on  his' heart  satligh* 
And  the  net-work  over  its  pulse  grew  tight, 
As  he  thought  of Jhier  who  was  dear  tobim! 

And  who  has  not  wished  that  the  day  might  heve» 

Intrude  on  such  innocent  sleep? 
And  prayed  that  the  vision  might  stay  for  ever, 

An(|  who  j^ati  not  wakened  to  weep! 
And  who  has  not  murmured—in  agony  too— 
When  the  tenant  of  heaven  away  from  him  flew-^ 

And  he  felt  'twas  a  vision  indeed! 
Such— such  ape  tlie  phantoms,  my  days  pursu^, 

And  wiU  'till  my  spirit  is  free4. 

I  awake  from  9,  trance  on  the  cliflP^  stormy  height, 
Wliilp  sucliLyisiQns  are  fading  away  frompiy  sight—* 


^ 


iH 


GOLDAU. 


And  feel— while  my  senses  are  going  astt^y-o 
Like  one  that  can  watch  his  own  heart  in  decay- 
Like  a  dreamer  that's  wandered  uncovered  in  day! 
And  find,  as  I  start  from  the  spell  that  enthralled  me. 
That  the  voices  and  wings  of  the  spirits  that  caUed  rao, 

Are  pageants  that  flit  thro*  the  fire  of  the  brain:-. 
Commissioned  to  waken  my  heart  from  its  sleep— 
To  stir  my  young  blood— 'till  the  maniac  weep- 
But  commissioned — by  Mercy— in  vwn!— 
Nay— sUence  my  harp!— the  enchantment  is  near— 
Her  pinions  are  waving!— my  Ellen,  appear! 


He  paused— smd  then,  imploringly. 
There  went  in  lustre  from  his  eye 
A  mute  petition  to  the  sky: 
He  turned  and  saw  the  dark-eyed  maid; 
And  saw  her  drop  a  trembling  tear- 
Then  on  her  breast  his  hand  he  laid. 
As  listening  if  its  pulse  betrayed 
One  added  throb  of  doubt  or  fear. 
Then— gazing  on  her  downcast  eye. 
He  shook  his  head  reproachfully-— 
Put  back  her  flowing  raven  hair,  " 
And  wiped  the  tear-drop  glittering  there. 
And  shook  his  own  imperial  brow. 

And  thanked  lier  with  his  eye 

Then  dropt  her  yielding  hand— and  now 

His  harp  is  pealing  high! 


i^OLDAU. 


215 


^i*  ■ 


art  in  decay- 
covered  in  day! 
enthralled  me, 
its  that  called  mo, 
•f  the  bnun:— 
n  its  sleep— 
iac  weep — 
ain!—- 

lent  is  near— 
tpear! 


maid; 
id. 


•e 


>        • 


there, 


now 


And  now  a  murmuring  comes  again» 
A  mournful— fkint— and  languid  strain. 

MINSTREL. 

Nay — nay  sweet  girl-'thou  shaltnot  weepi 
rU  wake  my  Ellen's  summer  sleepr 
This  is  the  strain  she  bid  me  sing. 
When  I  would  hear  her  angel  wing. 

A  low— sweet  symphony  then  fell 

From  each  calm  wire,  asif  &  spell 
In  musick  might  be  spoken! 

*Twas  like  the  breath  of  evening's  shell 

When  faintly  comes  its  faintest  swell— 

Or  fairy  note  from  flow'ret  bell. 

When  some  young  insect's  golden  cell 
By  careless  touch  is  broken! 

And  then  was  heard  hke  singing  air 

This  adjuration  trembling  there. 

ADJURATION. 

0  come,  on  the  beam  of  the  night,  love! 

O  Q0me,  on  the  beam  of  the  night! 
While  the  stars  are  all  busy  and  bright,  lovd: 

O  come,  with  thy  tresses  of  light' 

1 

Away  thro*  the  air  we  will  go,  love. 
Where  the  waters  of  melody  flow,  love: 

Where  all  the  fresh  lilies  are  blowing; 

vf  nere  tae  lui-i  is  all  mossy  and  green  iove,  lovej 


316 


GOLDAU. 


Where  the  fountains  of  heaven  are  flomng. 
And  the  skies  are  aU  blue  and  serene  love. 

O  come,  with  thy  plumage  of  light,  love. 
And  we  wiU  embrace  in  our  flight,  love. 

O  come,  to  my  desolate  heart,  love. 
And  smile  on  the  clouds  that  are  there. 

And  let  us  together  depart,  love. 
And  sing  on  our  way  thro'  the  ah-. 

0  come,  let  us  hasten  away,  love— 
Where  spirits  may  worship  and  pray,  love. 

0  come,  on  the  beam  of  the  night,  lovef 

O  come,  on  the  beam  of  the  night! 
WhUe  the  stars  are  aU  busy  and  bright,  love. 

O  come,  with  thy  tresses  of  light! 

Then  with  a  glance  of  Hre  he  rose, 
And  this— a  fiercer  hytoning  rose: 

This  harp  hath  lain  long  and  forgotten  m  gloom; 
And  the  roses  that  wreathed  it  have  lost  all  thek  bloom 

bmce  It  brightened  and  trembled  at  home: 
The  sweU  of  whose  heaven,  and  smile  of  whose  day. 
First  tempted  its  song  on  the  breezes  to  stray: 
The  air  of  whose  mountain  first  taught  it  to  play 
And  the  wind  from  the  surge,  as  it  tumbled  in  foam 
First  challenged  its  nwnbers  in  storm  to  roam 


GOLDAU. 


in 


For  the  night  of  the  heart,  tm:  of  sorrow  is  o»er  it. 
And  the  passionate  hymn  that  iii  other  days  tore  it. 
With  her,  who  so  oft  to  the  green  bower  bore  it. 
Have  gone  like  the  moonlighted  song  of  a  dream' 
Lake  the  soul  of  an  eye  that  hath  shed  its  last  beam* 
And  the  tendrils  of  lustre  that  over  it  curled. 
With  the  dark  eye  that  gave  all  its  wandering  birth, 
AUgone-Uke  a  cherubim-wing  that  is  furled- 
And  left  me  alone~aH  alone  in  the  world— 
With  nothing  to  worship  or  ding  to  on  earth! 

Yet-yet  o»er  the  mountains  my  country  appears: 

And  to  her  I  will  waken  my  lyre: 
l»erhaps  it  may  brighten  again,  tho'  in  tears, 
An4  the  being  it  sang  to  in  long  vanished  years, 

May  come  m  my  visions  of  fire! 
Ah.  though  she  has  gone-  that  young  hope  of  my  heart! 

StUl  she  thinks  of  the  nights  when  I  played'to  her, 
When  my  sighs  like  the  souls  of  the  blest  would  de- 
part. 

As  1  knelt  by  my  harp  and  prayed  to  her. 

0,  yes— tho*  thou  art  gone,  my  love, 
Thou'lt  know  the  lay~for  none  could  move 
Thy  pulse  Uke  him,  who  sings  this  song- 
Its  throbs  delay— subdue— prolongs 
For  they  were  so  obedient  still. 
They  fluttered,  fainted  at  his  will; 
Thy  heart  and  soul,  and  thought  kept  time. 
Like  angels  to  some  heavenly  chime; 
Now  Ughtning  wantoned  in  thine  eyes. 

As  hl'lO'llt  no  , 


r^.    _1.X!>.i 


*w**>  V&AV 


OA^CDI 


31ft 


GOLDAU. 


And  now  in  rich  dissolving  dew— 
They  darkly  swam  like  heaven's  own  bluej 
Now  bent  to  earth-M-now  flashing  bright:— 
Now  fwnting— fading  on  the  sight— 
Lik«  cherub  eyes  that  weep  in  light; 
O,  yes  thou'lt  know  tlie  lay  i^n. 
And  weep  to  hear  my  harp  complain; 
Spirit!  I  know  thou  wilt,  for  ye 
Can  never  lose  such  memory:— 
Oh,  I  could  sing  my  heart  away, 
To  such  a  spirit  would  it  stay! 


In  the  pause  of  the  storm,  I  could  hear 
Her  sweet-toned  voice,  so  wild  and  clear! 

That— suddenly—I'd  turn  around— 
Believing  she  was  near!  "• 

And  then!— I'd  shed  the  bitter  tear- 
As  if  I'd  come  too  late!— and  found— 

That-^sappointed^-«A(?  had  gone; 
As  if  she  had— that  moment  flown 
And  left  me — left  me!— all  alone— 
And  then  again  I'd  hear  the  tone 

Of  her  own  lute— as  'twere  to  cheer— 

The  pilgrim  on  his  journey  here: 
like  the  dew  of  heaven— a  pearly  light- 
That  falls  where  the  touch  of  the  storm  hath  been^ 
In  the  silent  night- 
Refreshing  the  air— aiid  stirring  the  bteeze 

With  the  flourishing  green 
Of  branchincr  trees; 


GOLDAU. 


219 


1)  blue) 
right:— 

t; 
n; 


lear 
:leigr! 


sur*" 


le; 


eer- 


ight— 

storm  hath  beeiij 

bteeze 


And  often—when  the  sun  went  down- 
In  battle— blood~>Rnd  flame-~ 
As,  o*er  against  the  sky  1  stood. 
Away,  by  yonder  blueish  wood, 

Whence,  often,  on  the  winds  she  came, 
I've  heard  her — gently— •dng  my  name>— 
And  seen  two  shadows— faintly  thrown. 

Upon  the  water— far  below. 
And  I— great  Crod!— was  ail  alone! 
And  one  of  them  had  wings— 4i^  stooping 

Amid  her  lovely  ludr, 
Whose  vapoury  flow. 
Was  all  around— seemed' weeping,  where 

The  other— seemed  in  madness,  drooping^- 
That  other!— who  was  he?— he  ^rove 

In  vwn— in  VMn!— to  touch  her  hand- 
As  one  that— overwhelmed  with  love-* 
Within  the  awful  prfesence  of 

The  creature  of  his  heart  doth  stand! 
And  often— often  have  1  heard — 

Two  voices  mingling  in  the  wood- 
Chiding  and  weeping— and  they  seemed— 
like  some  of  which  I*ve  often  drcamed~- 
I  know  not  where-~I  know  not  why— 
1  love  but  one— and  she  is  gone— 
Yet  still  I  often  hear  the  tone— 

Of  children— in  the  sdr— and  sky. 
As  they  were  drowning— and  a  third — 
Such  as  I've  heard  in  solitude- 
Like  some  sweet-toned  pronouncing  bird, 
N 


m 


GOLDAtr. 


> 


Would  say  my  name  aloud, 
A»  if  some  lovely  infant  there, 

Encnidled  in  a  golden  cloud-- 
Where  all  was  yellowish  vapour— dim— • 
"Wete  faintly  calling  me  to  him! 

tf^rk!— there  is  musick  in  the  hollow  sky! 
Something  mysterious  parading  by— 
*Tis  the  loud  march— the  echoing  band  of  heaven, 
Marshalled  alofl-~in  revelation  g^ven 
To  all,  who  when,  Sublimely,  up  the  air 

Great  midnight  moves  in  dim  magnificence; 
Are  out  upon  the  hills;  and,  kneeling  there, 

In  the  dread  feeling  of  Omnipotence— 
Breathe  to  the  awful  symphonies  that  go 
Around  the  vaulted  sky,  and  penetrate 
Each  gloomy  spot—where  secret  waters  flow- 

And  r.iture  sits  alone  and  desolate. 
Upon  her  Rocky  throne— and  see,  away 
The  dread  machinery  of  air  in  play — 

The  tracking  meteors,  as  they  pour  Along. 
All  luminous  with  fiery  hair,  and  sweep 
Athwart  the  grand,  illuminated  deep- 
Like  a  descending  firmament— but  stay! — 
O,  listen!  listeni^that  awakening  song! 
That  awful  burst!  so  windy— far  and  strong 
With  loud,  ungovernable  melody— 
And  now— *tis  gone— *tis  melted  in  the  sky— 
And  all  the  world  is  silent-  how  like  death — 
All  gone— for  ever!— like  some  passing  breath!— 


^~^J|^tijM|U|^^a|;^^^iLaii 


.gM^i-l^''diifiMlAi..i^' 


GOLDAU. 


The  Harper  paused;  tua  numbers  diedi-— 
The  mountain-nymph  was  b>  his  ude: 
Unconscious  that  the  mighty  spell, 
Which  drew  her  to  hb  lonely  cell. 
Was  strengthening  as  she  heard  thU  song, 
Go  so  complainingly  along; 
For  let  him  sing  of  what  he  might, 
Of  heaven  or  sunslune— storms  or  night — 
The  battle •>-earthquake--or  the  bed 
Of  honour-r-ri^ture— or  the  dead- 
lier swelling  heart—her  glistening  lash— 
The  sudden  breath— the  sudden  flash- 
Proclaimed  how  well  the  charm  was  wrought, 
^ow  surely  was  her  young  heart  caught.  . 

Agiun  he  smote  his  souncUng  lyre. 
Again  his  arm  to  heaven  was  raised; 

His  robe  was  forth!  and  prouder— higher 

He  rang  his  trumpet  notes  of  fire^ 
Until  his  very  spirit  blazed! 

And  from  his  eye  of  lustrous  night. 

There  went — uninterrupted  fight! 

And  thus  he  chanted  to  the  rude 

Omnipotence  of  SoUtud^. 

Switzerland  of  Hills!  Th^u  muse  of  Storms, 
Where  the  cloud-spirit  reins  the  bursting  forms 
Of  airy  steeds— whose  meteor-manes  float  far 
In  lightning  treSses  o'er  the  midnight  car 
That  bears  thine  angels  to  their  mountain  war! 

Home  of  the  earthquake!  land  where  Tell 
Dared  his  erreat  bosom  to  his  God.  and  fell. 


..**» 


*«iii[|;>Sff«<W««^j»»-.«.jy8^^  ■ 


m 


OOLDAU. 


Like  hit  own  Alpine-torrent,  on  hii  country'g  foe* 
*     Lwid  of  the  unerring  thaft  and  warrior-bowj 
The  upward  Eagle— and  the  bounding  Doe:— 
The  ahaggy  wolf—and  the  eternal  flow 
Of  cloud-nursed  streams,  and  everlastiiig  mov 

■    '  .1 

SwitzerUnd!  my  country!  'tis  to  thee, 

I  rock  my  harp  in  agony:— 
My  countiy!  nurse  of  Liberty, 

Home  of  the  gallant,  great  and  free, 

My  sullen  harp  I  rock  to  thee. 

O,  I  have  lost  ye  all! 

Parents— and  home— and  friends: 
Ye  sleep  beneath  a  mountain  pall; 

A  mountain-pjumage  o*er  ye  bends. 
The  cliff.yew  in  funereal  gloom. 
Is  now  the  only  mourning  plume. 
That  nods  above  a  peoples*  tomb. 

Of  the  echoes  that  swim  o*er  thy  bright  bluelake. 
And  deep  in  its  caverns;  their  merry  bells  shake; 

And  repeat  thy  young  huntsman's  cry: 
That  clatter  and  laugh,  when  the  goatherds  take 
Their  browsing  flocks  at  the.moming'g  break, 
Far  over  the  hills-  not  one  is  awake 

In  the  awell  of  thy  peaceable  sky. 

They  sit  on  that  wave  with  a  motionless  wing; 
And  their  cymbals  are  mute  and  the  desert  birds  sing 
Their  unanswered  notes  to  the  wave  and  the  sky- 
One  startling,  and  sudden— unchangeable  cry. 


intry'ifoci 

P-boWi 

tig-  Doe:— 
ow 

itiof  now. 
lec. 


Bree, 


s: 


nds. 


;blue]akej 
ills  shake; 
;ry: 

2rds  take 
•reak> 


:ss  wing; 
;rt  birds  sing 
the  sky— 
eery. 


\ 


GOLDAU. 


233 


As  they  stoop  their  broid  wtng  and  go  sluggishly  by: 

For  deep  in  that  biue-bosomed  water  is  laid. 

As  inaocent,  true,  and  as  lovely  a  maid 
As  ever  in  cheerfulness  carolled  her  song, 

In  the  blithe  mountMn  ur,  as  she  bounded  al'ongt 
The  heavens  are  all  blue,  and  the  billows  bright  vei^e 
Is  frothily  laved  by  a  whisperihg  surge. 
That  heaves  incessant,  a  tranq-iil  dirge. 

To  lull  Uie  pale  forms  that  sleep  below: 

Fonm— that  rock  as  the  waters  flow. 

That  bright  lake  is  still  as  a  liquid  sky, 
And  when  o*er  its  bosom  the  swift  clouds  fly. 
They  pass  like  thoughts  o'er  a  clear  blue  eye! 

The  fHnge  of  thin  foam  that  their  sepulchre  binds. 
Is  as  light  as  the  cloud  that  is  borne  by  the  winds; 
While  over  its  bosom  the  tUm  vapours  hover. 
And  flutterless  skims  the  snowy-winged  plover: 
Swiftly  passing  away— like  a  hunted  wing; 
With  a  drooping  plume— that  may  not  fling 
One  sound  of  life— or  a  rustling  note— 
O'er  that  sleepless  tomb-~where  my  loved  ones  float.    . 

Oh  cool  and  fresh  is  that  bright  blue  lake. 
While  over  its  stillness  no  sounds  awake: 
No  sights-  but  those  of  the  hill-top  fountain 
That  swims  on  the  height  of  a  cloud-wrapped  moun< 
twn — 

The  basin  of  the  rainbow-stream, 
The  sunset  gfush— the  morning  gleam- 

V  9. 


*.i 


<jnr>:mm»m'- ■ 


324 


GOLDAU. 


The  picture  of  the  poet's  dream. 
Land  of  proud  hearts!  where  Freedom  broods 
Amid  her  home  of  echoing  woods. 
The  mother  of  the  mountain  floods- 
Dark  Goldau  is  thy  vale; 
The  spirits  of  Rigi  shall  wail 
On  their  cloud-bosomed  deep,  as  they  sail 
In  mist  where  thy  children  are  lying— 
As  their  thunders  once  paused  in  then-  headlong  de- 
scent. 
And  delayed  their  discharge-whUe  thy  desert  was  rent 
With  the  cries  of  thy  sons  who  were  dying. 

Xo  chariots  of  fire  on  the  clouds  careered: 
No  warrior-arm,  with  its  falchion  reared:— 
No  death^mgel's  trump  o'er  the  ocean  was  blown; 
No  mantle  of  wrath  o'er  the  heaven  was  thrown; 
No  armies  of  light— with  their  banners  of  flame- 
On  neighing  steeds—thro'  the  sunset  came. 

Or  leaping  from  space  appeared! 
No  earthquakes  reeled— no  Thunderer  stormed; 
No  fetterless  dead  o'er  the  bright  sky  swarmed- 

No  voices  in  heaven  were  heard! 
But  the  hour  when  the  sun  in  his  pride  went  dovt^n 

While  his  parting  hung  rich  o'er^the  world: 
While  abroad  o'er  the  sky  his  flush  manUe  was  blown, 

And  his  red-rushing  streamers  unfurled:— 

An  everlasting  hill  was  torn 
From  its  eternal  base— and  borne— 
In  g^ld  and  crimson  vapours  drest 
To  where a  people  are  at  rest!^ 


GOLDAU. 


225 


lam. 

eedom  broods 

)ods — 


as  they  sail 
ying-— 

heir  headlong  de- 

hy  desert  was  rent 
►  were  dying. 

careered: 
reared: — 
I  was  blown; 
'^as  thrown; 
3  of  flanae— 
ame, 

stormed; 
iwamiedj 

!  went  down 
he  world: 
intle  was  blown, 
iiied:— 


St 

»t! 


Slowly  it  came  in  its  mountsdn  wrath) 

And  the  forests  vanished  before  its  path: 

And  the  rude  cliffs  bowed— and  the  waters  fled— 

And  the  living  were  buried,  while  over  thelv  head 

T^ey  heard  the  ftill  march  of  their  foe  as  he  sped— 

Ai\dthe  valley  of  life—v/asthe  tomb  of  the  dead! 

The  clouds  were  all  bright:  no  lightnings  flew: 
And  over  that  valley  no  death-blast  blew: 
No  storm  passed  by  on  his  cloudy  wing: 
No  twang  was  heard  from  the  8ky-archer*8  string- 
But  the  dark,  dim  hill  in  its  strength  came  down. 
While  the  shedding  of  day  on  its  summit  was  thrown, 
A  glory  all  light,  like  a  wind-wreathed  crown- 
While  the  tame  bird-flew  to  the  vulture's  nest, 
And  the  vulture  forbore  in  that  hour  to  molest— 

The  mountsun  sepulchre  of  all  I  loved! 

^  The  village  sank— and  the  monarch  trees 

Leaned  back  from  the  encountering  breeze- 
While  this  tremendous  pageant  moved! 
The  mountain  forsook  his  perpetvial  throne- 
Came  down  from  his  rock— and  his  path  is  shown— 

In  barrenness  and  ruin— where 

The  secret  of  his  power  lies  bare— 

His  rocks  in  nakedness  arise: 

His  desolation  mock  the  skies. 

Sweet  vale — Goldau!  farewell— 
An  Alpine  monument  may  dwell 

N3 


I     f. 


226 


GOLDAU. 


Upon  thy  bosom,  oh!  my  home! 
But  when  the  last  dread  trump  shall  sound 
I'Utt^ad  again  thy  hallowed  ground- 
Sleep  thee,  my  loved  one,  sleep  thee! 
While  yet  I  live,  I'll  weep  thee— 
Of  thy  blue  dwelling  dream,  wherever  I  roam. 
And  wish  myself  wrapped  in  its  peaceful  foam. 

Sweet  vale—Goldau—farewell! 
My  cold  harp,  cease  thy  swell— 
'Till  tuned  where  my  loved  ones  dwell 
My  home!— Goldau!— farewell! 


7"™W^wH|imHP.  ItSjiWj-' 


rJif(Hm 


1  sound 

ee! 

r  I  roam, 
iful  foam. 


dwell 


mrn^i 


i\ 


JiELIVEBED  BEFORE  THE  BELPHMJSTS 


A.  IITBWABT  SOCIBTT  OF  BAITIMOBB. 


N4 


"'flk 


f  I' 


t\  I 


I  \ 


y 


\S' 


(DlDISd 


i>ELlVERED  BEFORE  THE  DELPHIMrS. 


O  THOU  of  Heaven!  Apollo,  thou. 
With  fiery  eye,  and  lofty  brow; 

The  radiant  twin  of  Chastity! 

The  blazing  god  of  Poesy! 
To  thee  we  bow! 

We  thank  thee  that  another  year 
Hath  rolled  around,  and  left  us  here: 
We  thank  thee  that  the  glorious  birth 
Of  him,  thy  minister  on  earth, 
Is  still  to  us  so  dear. 

Young  prince  of  air!  whose  glittering  bow, 
By  us,  thy  worshippers  below! 
Is  seen  athwart  our  darkest  heaven! 

In  quenchless  and  eternal  light! 
A  blazing  constellation  given 
Amid  the  season  of  the  night! 

Arise! — Arise! 
Young  archer  of  tha  f^kies» 


'f' 


#■»*•*  *„.^.,e" 


i^eg't*< '"'I'; 


n 


M 


230 


DELPHIAN  ODE. 

Our  chosen  deity! 

Obendthybowof  migbt. 
And  'mid  the  vaulted  night. 

While  we  uprear 
Our  hands  to  thee; 
Appear!  apr '  ,.>r:H^;^^2S|| 
Inthydiu.  ^^'^ 

O  thou  of  heaven,  ApoUo  thou, 
Shiiic  out  upon  thy  votaries  now! 

Show  out  thy  mysteries  where 
Thou  tread»8t  the  lifeless  air: 
On  the  motionless  cloud. 
Be  thy  harpers  arrayeds 
Where  shadowy  faces  crowd. 
With  forms  of  shade. 

ThymusicktooJ  O,  be  it  heard 

So  faintly,  that  its  sounds  may  seem 
The  warblings  of  some  hidden  biiti. 
That  we  have  sought  for  in  a  dream. 

Unfurl  thy  thin  transparent  sail. 
That  we  have  seen  so  often  spread. 

And  bosom  to  the  silent  gale. 
That  wafts  the  spirits  of  the  dead. 

That  seems  to  aU  but  Delphian  eyes 
A  vapour  passing  o»er  the  skies. 
WhUe  'tis,  to  us,  the  floating  veil. 


■-•..<-> 


■'"JT^^IBIW  ■!<mtf:<>f,imt>t^ 


W^^' 


-•".'  lUgMIJ^'' 


DELPHIAN  ODE. 

That,  with  its  shadowy  light,  enshrouds 
Thy  sister's  cold,  sweet  face  in  clouds. 

To  us— the  showy,  bannered  air. 

That  streaming,  flutters  down  the  heaven, 
When  o'er  the  clouds  assembled  there, 
With  sounding  wheels  and  flaming  hair. 

Thy  conquering  steeds  in  light  are  driven! 

It  is  thfe  pure  transparency 

By  angel-fingers  spun. 
That  wraps  young  love  and  infancyi 

That  veils  the  glowing  face 

Of  nakedness  and  grace: 
'Tis  woven  ip  the  twilight  beam. 
And  coloured  in  the  blushing  stream. 

Beneath  the  setting  sun. 

Such  is  a  cloud  to  Delphian-eyes! 
The  strangest  wonder  of  the  skies, 

At  mom— at  noon— at  night; 
For  ever  changing  as  it  flies. 
Unfolding  still  its  rainbow  dye 

For  ever  on  the  sight. 

0,  then  unfurl  that  sail  again. 

And  let  us  seo  o*er  heaven's  blue  main, 

Thy  boat  go  swift  and  silently. 
And  hear  the  fwnt,  uncertain  chime, 
Of  bards  that  were  in  older  time. 


?31 


\Vnr»  ci<-    oTitfl  no  fli 


£*»r  cifi 


n  „T^.,,- 


t3%  DELPHIAN  ODE. 

Awake  a  wild,  and  mingling  8ong'~ 
That  tella  of  immortality! 

Pronounce  thine  adjurations  there! 
And  summon  from  each  cemetry, 
Thy  earliest  Dhuhuits,  'till  the  air 
Is  bright  with  harps!  and  loud  with  minstreli^! 

O  let  them*  not  profane  this  hour, 
And  slumber  in  thy  time  of  power! 
But  let  thy  ministers  proclaim, 

Through  all  the  air. 
In  musick  and  in  flame. 
That  thou  art  there! 

-   Let  all  that  in  the  darkness  dwell 
In  silence  or  in  solitude. 
In  cavern  or  in  wood. 
Now  hear  thy  harp's  triumphant  swell! 
And,  lifted  by  thy  fearful  spell. 
From  the  fathomless  deep. 
Come  forth  in  their  sleep! 
From  the  field  of  blood 
Where  the  soldier  liesj— 
And  the  restless  flood. 
Where  the  sailor  dies. 

From  the  pathless  wild, 

Where,  o'er, the  pilgrim's  bones. 
Or  Nature's  child— 

And  heaps  of  warrior  Indians  lie—    ^ 


fi-^SIKSft**?! 


DELPHIAN  ODE. 

'      The  old  decaying  trees, 
Like  spirits  on  the  breeze, 
In  strange— low."interrupted  tones. 
Are  swinging  mcamfuUy! 

From  ocean's  shore. 
Where  tlie  sea-muds  pour 
A  wateiy  lamentation  o'er 
The  dripping  locks  of  some  sweet  form. 
Just  shipwrecked  in  the  passing  storm. 
And  weep  and  blow  their  melancholy  shellf 
And  ring  their  sweet-toned  coral  bellSj 
Like  murmuringp  from  a  cloud! 

0  let  them  all  appear! 

The  spectres  of  the  mind, 
Of  phrensy  or  of  fear. 

Careering  on  the  wind! 

O  strike  the  note!  and  from  his  bier. 
Each  tenant  of  the  deep  wil!  rise. 
With  motionless  eyes; 
And  each  his  coral  sceptre  rear— - 
And  each  before  our  face  appear. 
Within  his  sea-grass  shroud! 

Let  all  that  in  the  darkness  dwell- 
Now  see  thy  form,  and  hear  the  sweil 
Of  ancient  harpers,  loudly  unging! 
And  from  thy  vaulted  dwelling  place, 
Amid  the  solitudes  of  space. 


*^*  DELPHIAN  ODE. 

Far  thunders  roll  their  awful  baae, 
And  harps  and  trumpets  ringing! 

Now  be  our  invocation  done!— 
Forlo!-ApoUoofthc8un, 
Hangs  out  his  starry  lyre. 
With  frame  of  gold  and  strings  of  fire, 

Upon  our  midnight  firmament! 
And  now  his  bow  of  quenchless  light 
U  brightening  on  our  sight— 

And  now  'tis  slowly  bent! 
All  liAil  to  this  auspicious  hour! 
These  are  the  symbols  of  his  power: 
In  mercy  they  are  sent. 

Apollo!  god  of  poesy! 

Of  eloquence  and  light. 
Of  life,  and  pride,  and  ecstacy. 
'     Is  manifest  to  night! 

0,  let  the  air  we  breath  be  flame. 
And  let  our  echoing  hearts  proclaim. 

In  musick  to  the  sky- 
That  he,  the  Delphian  god!  is  near. 
That  he,  our  chosen  one!  is  here, 
'Till  he,  the  god  of  song!  is  heard 

In  every  Delphian-word; 
*TiU  he,  the  god  of  light!  is  seen. 
Like  sunshine  where  the  clouds  have  been, 
Warm-lovely-and  serene, 

In  every  DelpWan-eye! 


*'W'ijllH|^^^^^ 


DELPHIAN  ODE. 


235 


Arise!— furise! 
Proclaim  ye.to  the  skies! 
'That  he  hath  left  his  dwelling  pkce, 

His  chariot  of  revolving  light; 
And  tum'd  his  coursers  in  the  race — 
When  stretching  o'er  the  bounds  of  space. 
To  fill  our  halls  and  hearts  to  night! 

Then  let  us  iaise  our  hymning  higher, 
Sound  every  trumpet,  haip,  and  lyre, 

That  he  to  man  hath  given; 
'Till  all  that  revel  in  thf  sky. 

Uplifting  high, 
Their  sullen  midnight  canopy. 
Hang  lingering  as  they're  hurried  by. 
And  poised  upon  their  viewless  wing, 
Repeat  the  anthem  that  we  sing 
To  him,  the  tenant  of  high  heaven! 

And  now,  Apollo!  now, 
Agsdn  we  bow, 
To  thee. 
In  fervour  and  siricerity! 


Another  year  has  travelled  round. 
And  still  within  this  ring  were  found. 
Like  one  that  treads  enchanted  ground, 

'  For  ever  lingering  in  it! 
We  feel  as  we  approach  its  verge, 
Like  one,  that  on  a  precipice. 
Recoiling  from  a  dim  abyss. 
Stand  listening  to  the  surge! 


186 


DELPHIAN  ODE. 


He  dare  not  itep-^there'i  danger  when 
He  puU  hit  foot  beyond  the  bound; 

*Tis  §o  with  lu— beyond  are  men 
Too  little  like  what  here  are  found: 

Within  thia  circle  there's  a  power 

That  charms  a  year  into  a  hour. 
An  hour  into  a  minute! 


This— like  the  boundaries  drawn  on  air; 
By  anpels*  wings  that  eddy  there. 

Is  felt,  but  never  seen; 
A  strange,  unearthly  atmosphere. 
Is  ever  warm  and  breathing  here. 
As  if  there's  something  heavenly  near, 

Invisibly  serene! 
The  summer  of  the  heart  is  found. 
For  ever,  in  this  viewless  bound. 

While  all  beyond  is  cold; 
And  here,  for  ever  may  be  seen. 
The  constant-branching  evergreen; 
The  verdure  of  the  heart,  that  spreads, 
A  living  arbour  o'er  our  heads; 
The  laurels  of  the  brain,  that  grow. 
In  intellectual  Ught,  and  throw 
Their  streaming  garlands  round  our  hair, 
Self-woven  in  immortal  air; 
And  all  the  flowers  of  heaven,  that  blow, 
Beut-iath  the  fierce  and  feverish  glow. 
Of  him,  oui  god!  whose  burning  face. 
Within  this  consecrated  place, 
Tfce  Delphians  in  their  dreams  behold! 


1 1 


OELl>HIAK  ODE. 


237 


Thii  viewless  prison-house  of  ours, 
That  holds  our  spirits  captive  here. 
Is  not  a  temple  wrought  with  flowers. 
That,  stripped  from  Dissipation's  bowers, 
Are  hung  in  empty  mockery. 
Where  idleness  and  revelry, 
In  festival  appear— 


*Tis  not  a  ring  by  pleasure  traced: 
No  foaming  goblets  round  are  placed— 
No  woven  flowers,  nor  mingling  vines. 
Of  aught,  that  young  Volupte  twines. 

Nor  white  arms  interlaced; — 
Nor  snowy  breasts-^nor  sparkling  eyes. 
Around  our  haunts  obedient  rise, 

To  grace  our  midnight  mysteries. 

Our  viewless  boundary  is  a  chain 
That  passes  through  each  heart. 
That  .-lengthened— soon  contracts  again. 
That— rent— is  always  rent  in  vain. 
The  links— are  load-stones  of  the  brain! 
And  fim*t  be  kept  apart! 

The|»p  unseen  bands  of  strength  that  bind 
Our  hearts  and  souls,  are  intertwined, 
Py  wit,  and  sympathy,  and  mind- 
Unseen,  'tis  true,  as  they  were  traced 
Upon  the  ocean-waste. 
But  steady  as  the  eternal  chain, 
That  fetters  the  rebellious  iiiRin,, 
O 


11' 


23S- 


BELPHUN  ODE. 

Whence  ?j  tlus  knitting  of  our  bouIi? 
Whence  is  the  magick  that  controls 

Our  wwidering  thought,  and  keeps  us  here? 
It  18  the  band  of  brotherhood- 
By  genius  only  underetood— 

To  genius  only  dear: 


The  flash  of  wit  and  light  of  song. 
The  stream  of  heart  that  pours  along, 
Betraying  in  its  coui^e. 

Ten  thousand  prepous  things  that  grow 
Wpon  its  bank-like  founts  that  flow,     . 

Abruptly  from  a  hidden  source. 
Whose  shining  wave  and  joyful  sound. 
For  ever  turn  us  wondering  round, 
like  traveller  o»er  some  idesert  ground. 

Some  wilderness  or  mountain. 
That  smUes  to  hear  the  gushing  bound      ' 

Of  some  fresh  springing  fountain; 
And  stands,  with  folded  anns,  to  see. 
However  thirsty  he  may  be,  ' 

Its  young  tide  rippling  cheerfully. 
And  round  about  in  murmurs  steaUng, 
Now  running  there,  andhiding  here. 
As  'twere-some  Uving  thing  in  fear; 
And  still  ten  thousand  tints  reveaUng, 
like  seipent  in  the  grass  concealing; 
While  all  the  drowsy  buds  awake. 
Unfolding  in  their  stany  pride,' 
And  dip  their  bright  green  leaves  and  shake 
Their  silvery  blossoms  o»er  the  tide. 


IM 


BOUlt? 

trols 

keep!  lu  here? 


Oft 
•long, 

bat  grow 
flow, 

sound, 

nd, 

ground, 

bound 

ain; 

see, 

rfiilly, 

aling, 

ng-  here, 

g*  in  fear; 

'ling, 

»ng; 

kt, 

le, 

es  and  shake 

^e  tide. 


DELPHUN  OUB. 

And  with  his  eyes  upHfted  sees— 
A  new  creation  in  the  breeze — 

The  gtitteiing  willow  wave  its  leaves. 
The  emerald  tuif  itself  grow  bris^hteit 

And  grrlands  that  dear  Nature  weaver 
tJpon  the  lifting  wind-HliMQice  lij^ter. 

So  'tis  withns— a  sudden  stream 
Ccmes  from  the  desert,  with  a  gleam 

O^  loveliness  and  mystery; 
And  lo!  unnumbered  things  concealed 
In  every  heart^^^re  then  revealed 

And  shine  in  every  eye: 

'Tis  this  that  fiudnates  us  here; 
That  makes  this  social  group  so  dear; 

That  binds  us  to  each  other: 
*Tis  this  that  makes  the  lengthening  year 
That's  past  in  light-^to  us  appear 

A  cloudless  momenliiy  dream; 

A  lovely~>wandering  beam. 
That  chanced— in  passing  o'er  a  crowd 
Of  ttrangers — gathered  in  adoud. 

To  show  to  each-^us  brother! 
A  lovely  beam!  that  fell  astray. 

As  if  it  were  to  show  us  tlus; 
That  we  had  chosen  a  clouded  way 
tJpon  a  crumbling  precipice; 
That  men  were  made  for  men,  and  must 

Commini^e  in  their  Ugfat; 


S39 


#      l\ 


•  *•:••  ■  >t»  <  . 


»'  **«.. . 


-•>Wk» 


I 


^9  DELPHIAN  ODE. 

That  soub  within  their  sheaths  will  rust. 

But  brighten  m  the  fightt 
That  all  the  weapons  of  the  mind 

In  solitude  consume  away; 
The  bow  strings,  and  the  shafts  designed 

Alike  for  song,  and  strife  and  play. 
The  lightning  that  immortab  wield. 
The  flashing  blade  and  flaming  shield— 
All—all— when  they  have  left  the  field- 
Grow  dim  and  waste  away! 

O  then  be  this  our  prayer! 

Still  may  that  beam  be  playing  there; 

Whene'er  we  go  astray! 
Assembled  as  we  are  to-night. 
Be  still  our  sliields  and  weapons  bright, 

*Till  gathered  for  the  judgment  day— 
Beneath  a  far  more  fearful  cloud. 
We  hear  far  trumpets  bursting  loud» 
And  gaze  on  every  passing  shroud. 

To  catch  one  melancholy  ray. 

Be  this  our  prayer.    O  may  we  meet, 
0  many  an  hour  as  rich  as  this! 

'Till  every  heart  forgets  to  beat; 

And  may  such  precious  moments  cheat 
Our  spirits  to  forgetfulness^ 

'Till  all  the  icy  hearts  abroad, 
'  On  life's  unhospitable  road. 
Are  all  forgotten  or  forgiven? 

And  may  the  path  wc  tread  to  iright^ 


DELPHIAN  Om. 

lie  trodden  *tiU  each  Delphian  light 
Be  quenched  or  set  in  heaven. 

Our  week  of  cheeriest  toil  once  past, 
This  holy  sabbath  comes  at  last^ 

This  sabbath  of  the  heart! 
This  lovely  hour! — O  be  it  blest, 
In  mental  fellowship  and  restj 

And  be  it  ever  set  apart! 
For  ever,  while  we  stay  on  earth, 
For  art  and  science,  song  and  mirtli, 
•Till  other  Delphians  burst  ftom  night, 
And  all  the  world  is  filled  with  light! 

From  oui^  cluster  of  stars,  it  is  true, 
One,  holy  and  bright,  is  withdrawn, 

'Twas  the  heridd  of  evening  and  dew, 
And  the  star  of  a  lustreless  morn; 

For  whole  seasons  that  star  was  alone, 
Alone— in  its  fathomless  sphere. 

For  whole  seasons  its  splendours  had  shone, 
Unobscured'-for  no  other  wss  near: 

For  the  dark  of  its  sky  was  too  deep, 
Its  ray  was  too  mild  and  serene. 

It  was  hastening  tcway  to  its  sleep, 

And  none  would  have  known  it  had  b^en! 


til 


But  others  were  wandenng  around, 
Like  thkt,  unobserved  in  the  sky. 


(i9. 


1""^^' 


8*       « 


^*2  DELPHIAN  CHDE. 

Alwe  in  the  vaulted  profound, 

Too  dim—and  too  fer  for  the  eye- 
But  lo!  it  once  chanced,  in  the  route 

Of  two,  that  were  bosomed  in  space, 
That  they  touched,  as  they  wandered  about,^ 
And  each  t' en  abandoned  its  place 

Ahd  one  was  the  star  that  is  gone. 

The  other  is  here  in  its  light; 
'Tis  our  centre  and  pride— »tis  the  one 

About  whom  we  gather  to-night. 

The  conjunction  was  watched  in  the  sky. 

And  others  soon  came  afar; 
A  new  Pkiadeg  blazed  on  the  eye. 

And  chose  for  their  centre  this  star? 

Yes— one  of  our  group  ill  withdrawn; 
One  star  of  our  worship  is  gone. 
But  its  place  was  supplied 
By  another  that  came. 
In  lustreand  pride. 
O'er  an  orbit  of  flame— 

And  yet  another—in  i\it place 
Whence  that  has  been  translated— 

Goes  brightening  o'er  the  tract  of  space- 
Sublimely  eievated— 

Another  from  our  heaven  of  pride 

—   —  "-— ----J  VUt.  SWi"  CVCi'j 


DELPHIAN  ODE.  3« 

O,  never  be  Am  place  suppUed! 

No—ncverJ 
A  drewy  blank  were  better  far, 
Than  such  a  smoking  foggy  star- 
To  him— our  chisf— one  parting  straini 
O,  may  he  long  our  chief  remMn! 

May  he,  to  whom  we  kneel, 
Apollo!  of  the  silver  bow. 
His  starry  harp  on  him  bestow! 
And  all  the  mysteries  of  space, 
The  wonders  of  his  beaming  face,. 

To  him,  our  chief,  reveal! 

O,  let  us  ne'er  forget  the  night. 
When  he— our  chief— burst  into  hghtt 
When,  having  reared  a  pillared  dome. 
We  rose  to  consecrate  a  home, 
Where  Science-Wit-and  Song  migjht  dwelfc 

And  Wonder  work  his  spell; 
And  Genius  stay  has  blazing  march. 

And  Musick  hang  her  dripping  shell; 
Where  all  the  Muses  might  suspend 
Their  ringing  harps—and  Fancy  bend 
With  Intellect  in  prayer; 

.   Ohthen, 
Anud  the  sons  of  men, 
Our  chief  appeared! 
His  hand  upreared-- 
And  la!  upon  the  sur, 
05 


. 


ilTHfisajjp'. , 


WSiJ* 


244 


DELPHIAN  OBE.      ^ 

We  saw  a  temple  building!  where 
Strange  musick  we  had  heard! 
Then  let  our  chief  be  loudly  named; 
With  trumpets  be  his  might  proclaimed; 

Be  reared  this  architectural  swell! 
He  fixed  the  key-stone  of  our  arch! 

Then  hail  to  our  chief  in  the  tumult  of  song, 
Let  the  hymn  of  his  praises  go  pealing  along! 
May  the  swell  of  his  heart  be  for  ever  the  tame; 
May  the  light  of  his  brMn 
Un^minished  remain, 
To  brighten  our  path  to  the  temple  of  Fame: 
O  may  he  be  crowned  by  the  wreath  of  the  mind! 
The  wreath  that  ApoUe  in  glory  hath  twmed; 
The  leaves  all  of  light  and  the  blossoms  of  flame! 

And  may  his  harp,  this  night  bequeathed. 
By  him,  our  god-with  fire  be  wreathed. 

And  may  that  bow  of  strength  be  bent. 
Through  tune  with  stiU  encreasing  force! 
May  every  sun's  revolving  course. 
Still  find  him  here. 
To  Delphians  dear, 
Our  chief-our  glory-and  our  pride! 
And  when  the  messengeris  sent— 
And  he  to  heaven  is  called  at  last. 
Upon  Apollo's  tide. 
Or  on  the  roaring  blMt— 
O,  may  he  as  he  hurries  past. 


i 


"W 


'.■ii 


rherc 
ird! 
med; 
K^lumedi 

I! 
roll! 

alt  of  song, 
ealing  along! 
for  ever  the  tame; 


mple  of  fame: 
>ath  of  the  mind! 
hath  twined; 
blosspma  of  flame! 

queathedf 
rreathedy 
jth  be  bent, 
ing  force! 
se. 


DELPHUN  ODE. 

Pour  bravely  out 
One  farewell  shout, 
To  us,  his  Delphians  here  below! 
And  with  his  harp,  and  with  his  bow, 
Go  thundering  o'er  the  firmament. 


245 


pride! 
lent— 
;last. 


04 


jt— 
ies  past, 


i 


BOOK  L 

hvocation  to  the  Deity „  the  God  of  Brttles 

.      '"*"  Spirit the  Indian  God and  the  S„i«e  rf 

u»p.r.t.„„.....vi.io„  of  the  Sp.„i.,^s portemol" 


•"•»' 


^ 
»■ 


f 

4 

r 

-'/. 

} 

) 

^^■ 

\ 

m. 

ti 

CONdTIEST  OTf  TETai\J. 


BOOK  I. 


eof 
apo 


■I 


1^ 


-m-'  J 


'J.. 

i.     i 

"3l^f 

1 

f  *  i.j, . 

O  THOU,  the  Everlasting!  -Thou,  O  God! 
Whose  habitation  is  the  universe— 
Whose  throne  -  eternity: — Jehovah!    Thou, 
Whose  dwelUng  is  all  space,  pavilioned  o*er 
With  railing  worlds!    Omnipotent!  -  to  thee— 
The  God  of  Battlks,  we  upUft  our  prayer 
And  supplication! 

We  have  seen  thee  ride 
Upon  the  storm,  with  trumpeting  and  smok*^. 
And  bloody  clouds!  -and  all  the  heavens  on  fire 
With  horsemen!  chariots!  armed  multitudes! 
Banners!  and  shields  and  spears! 

And  seen  the  vaulted  sky  roll  all  together 
Tumultuous— like  the  ocean  in  a  storm:— 
While  all  its  glimmering  verge— around  our  earth- 
Stood  thick  with  battlements    and  turrets— towers 
And  ensigns    cherubim— and  seraphim:— 
The  appari]tion  of  embattled  gods- 
Revealed  in  brief  transparency:— arrayed— 

> 

Dazzling!  and  terrible!— 


m 


CONQUEST  or  PERi;. 


And  heard  the  shout 
Of  countless  armies!— neigh  of  steeds!— and  o'er 
The  dark  round  firmament— a  giddy  host. 
Of  winged  shadows,  in  the  night,  have  seen 
t/p-3warraing  from  a  cloud! 

•While  all  about  A, 

The  mountains  ncdded— and  the  waters  heaved; 
Shouting  and  thunder  rolled!— and  all  the  skies 
Were  loud  with  battle,  and  with  victory! 

O  Thou!— fr(xn  whom  tiie  rebel  angels  fled. 
When  thou  didst  rend  thine  everlasting  veil, 
And  show  thy  countenance  in  wrath!    O  tboit? 
Before  whose  brow,  unclothed  in  light— put  forth 
In  awful  revelation~-they  that  stood 
Erect  in  heaven— they  that  walked  sublime, 
E*en  in  thy  presence.  Lord!— And  they  that  shone 
Most  glorious  *mid  the  host  of  glorious  ones;— 
"ViTith  Lucifer!    The  Morning  8tar!~.thc  Terrible!— 
The  chief  of  old  Immortals— with  the  si|^t 
Were  suddenly  consumed!    Almighty!    Thou, 
Whose  face  but  shone  upon  the  rebel  host 
Of  warring  constellations— and  their  crowns 
Were  quenched  for  ever!    And  the  mightiest  fell! 
And  lo!  innumerable  wings  went  up, 
And  gathered  round  about  the  Eternal's  throne— 
And  all  the  solitudes  of  air  were  filled 
With  thunders  and  with  voices!    And  the  war 
Fled  from  thy  presence!    And  thy  wrath  was  o'er. 
And  heaven  again  in  peace! 

O  Thou,  the  stay 
Of  men  and  angels-~whose  upltfted  arm 


# 


CONQUEST  Of  PERU. 


«i9. 


Reached  from  the  midnight  firmament,  and  wrapped 
In  cloudy,  blue,  tempestuous  light,  hath  led 
Thine  armies  through  the  wilderness!— whose  throive 
Of  whirlwind  and  of  thunder,  through  the  day 
Was  visible  in  heaven!    Jehovah!    Thou!     , 
Captdn  of  amues!    Chief  of  countless  wars! 
Who,  through  the  march  of  centuries,  hath  led 
Thy  chosen  ones  to  battle!— Thou,  whose  shield. 
Of  vaulted  darkness,  hath  been  interposed 
Between  iht  blazing  sun,  and  battling  hosts. 
When  thy  commissioned  ones  had  done  thy  will— 
Whose  peaceful  voice,  along  the  troubled  sky; 
Hath  re-established  all  the  loosened  hills- 
Charmed  the  loud  Ocean  in  his  bed,  and  stayed 
The  sweeping  tempest— turned  the  warrior  back. 
Recalled  the  chariot— reined  the  neighing  steed«- 
And  conquering  wheel— and  blood-drenched  ban- 

ner— all! 
^While  rj^ng  in  the  war— 
.  \A.nd  once,  for  slaughter,  held  the  rolling  sun 
Immoveable  in  heaven-'tUl  the  work 
Of  awful  retribution  had  been  done. 

f 
O  Thou,  the  God  ot  Battiks!— hear  our  prayer! 
O  bless  our  song! -fin  mercy  fill  our  soul 
With  visions  of  the  war!— 0„  let  the  wind 
Be  full  of  distant  trumpets— rising  horns— 
And  sounding  hoofs,  advancing  o'er  the  hills! 
O,  let  us,  o'er  the  battlements  of  heaven. 
The  cloudy  Andes.--and  the  western  Alps— . 
7'he  habitation  of  Ae  Indian-God— 


■<*mmf^-'^ 


SM 


CONQUEST  OF  PERU. 


O,  let  ui  see  yomg  trooping  wamort  ptua! 
The  souli  of  gRllant  men  thft  died  in  war;— 
Each,  with  hi«  bow  and  quiver!-~each  erect. 
And  firmly  planted  on  his  cloud!  with  ipear 
Couched  for  the  coining  white  man-o'er  his  brow 
The  vulture's  plumage-or  the  ragged  mane 
Of  some  young  lion,  that  on  earth  he  tore— 
Or-..arrow  fixed-and  bow-string  fiercely  drawn. 
With  eye  immoveable—and  burning  dark 
In  deadlinessand  hate— his  shoulder  bare, 
And  sinewy  limb—his  sandals  freshly  bound 
With  bleeding  tendons,  from  the  panther  torn. 
Whose  spotted  skin  is  floating  heavily 
Upon  the  wind—  and  dripping  darkly  yet! 
Let  every  cloud  that  moves  along  the  heaven 
Bear  tumult  in  its  bosom!— when  it  stoops. 
Or  rests  upon  the  mountain  top— or  sprei^s 
Its  angry  wings  aloft— or,  opening  wide- 
Reveals  the  bursting  Tempest  on  her  throne, 
.  Amid  her  armoury  of  burnished  shields— 
And  flaming  spears— her  lightnings  all  about 
Shaking  their  fearful  wings— her  thunderbolts 
Streaming  with  crimson  flame— and  armed  shapesj 
All  harnessing  their  chariots  and  their  steeds— 
To  the  loud  trumpeting  of  air— O  let  us  see 
Irmies  with  armies  wrestling— banners  spread! 
The  flaming  cross  to  blazing  suns  opposed— 
The  warriors  of  the  church  in  scarlet  robes— 
And  glittering  mail— and  helmets  studded  o'er 
With  steel  and  gold— in  war— with  naked  men! 
Unarmed— defenceless— and  oppressed  with  awe--^ 


«<^;-'«.  ■■,*»!r»*«*«,«9<f»«^/ 


CONQUEST  or  PBlir. 


Ui 


Children  of  Spain—with  children  of  the  Son? 
Castilian  warrior*  trained  in  fielda  of  bloodff  v      « 
Armed  with  thunder— lightning— and  engaged 
With  suppUnnt  red  men — born  aiwi  nursed  in  peKe; 
O  let  US  hear  the  old  Calitilian  cry! 
God!  and  St.  Jago!— the  tremendous  cry, 
That,  like  an  earthquake,  shook  the  hills  of  Spun, 
And  tumbled  to  the  eai  th  the  Moorish  pride — 
Darkened  their  crescent— rent  the  bloody  veil 
Oi"  all  their  temples— scattered  to  the  winds 
Their  streaming  tropMes — ^their  ?    pieties— 
Their  palaces  and  thrones!- O  let  us  hear 
That  war  ciy  peal  ag^n!    And  let  us  hear 
The  red.man's  thrilUng  voice!—  the  Mexican! 
And  rin^ng  battle  axes-  and  the  twang 
Of  brazen  bows— and  see  the  glittering  flight 
Of  winged  arrows  flaming  through  the  sky. 
God  of  the  Indian!    Monarch  of  the  skies! 
O  bear  thy  red  right  arm!— O  bend  thy  bow. 
Omnipotent! —and  let  thunders  roll! 

'O  Thou— our  Inspiration— Thou,  O  God! 
To  whom  the  Prophets  and  the  crowned  Kings— 
The  bards  of  many  years!  who  caught  from  thee 
Their  blazing  of  the  spirit— Thou,  to  whom 
The  Jewish  monarchs,  on  their  ivory  thrones 
Flaming  with  jewelry— have  fallen  down. 
And  rung  their  golden  harps,  age  after  age— 
O  Thou— to  whom  the  gifted  men  of  old. 
That  stood  among  the  mysteries  of  heaven, 
Head  the  thick  stars  —and  listened  to  the  wind, 


.   1 


-'-M.hiirM'iJMHI    Ml' 


'  #M iimHI i«a«(i|ii(IWi  Kill' "* 


fciwNiiSsf 


2Bi 


(SONQUBST  OPPBRU. 


Interpreted  the  thunder— told  the  voice    > 

Of  Ocean,  tumbling  in  his  caves— ezpfauned 

The  everlasting  characters  of  flame, 

That  bum  upon  the  firmament— and  saw 

The  face  of  him  that  sitteth  in  the  sun— 

And  read  the  writing  there,  that  comes  and  goes, 

Bevcaling  to  their  eyes  the  fate  of  men— 

Of  monarchs  and  of  empires— men,  that  stood 

Amid  the  soliti-des  of  heaven-and  earth— and  heard 

Prom  the  high  mountain  top,  the  silent  night 

Give  out  heruninteipreted  decrees— 

The  vener ble  men!— the  old-and  mighty! 

Prophets!  and  Bards!  and  Kings!  whose  souls  were 

filled 
With  immortality,  and  visions— »till 
^heir  hearts  have  ached  with  weary  supplication— 
*TiU  all  the  future  rushing  o*er  their  strings!— 
In  tempest  and  in  light!-h£th  drowned  their  pnyers! 
And  left  their  mighty  harps  aU  ringing  loud 
With  prophecy  and  woe! 

•       -       -       -       OThou!  to  whom 
Innumerable  suns— and  moons— and  worids, 
The  glorious  elevations  of  the  sky. 
The  choirs  of  cherubim  and  seraphim- 
Immortal  multitudes!— that  worship  round 
Thine  echoing  throne!— upon  their  golden  harjit. 
And  silver  trumps— and  organs  of  the  air. 
Pour  everlasting  melody!-0  Thou,  to  whom 
All  this  hath  been  familiar  from  the  hour. 
When  thou  didst  bow  the  heavcns-and,  at  the  sound 


COll^UEST  OF  PERtr. 


255 


Of  many  thunders  pealing  thy  decree. 
Creation  sprang  to  light— ^when  time  began— 
And  all  the  boundless  sky  was  fuU  of  suns—  ^ 

Rolling  in  symphony-^and  man  was  made- 
Sublime  and  confident-— and  woman,  up 
From  the  sunshine  of  the  Eternal,  rose 
AH  intellect  and  love!— And  all  the  hills. 
And  all  the  vales  were  green— and  all  the  trees  in 
flower. 


O  bless  our  trembling  harp! 
We  ^g  of  hattle!— We  have  tuned  our  heart 
In  awe  and  veneration  to  the  men 
Of  otherdays— thy  youngest  bom— to  whom 
This  western  world  was  an  inheritance — 
Who  gazed  on  thee — ^their  Father!— undisturbed— 
Unshaken— unextinguished — in  the  light 
Of  mightiest  revelation— Men— who  saw. 
The  Everlasting— face  to  face — ^and  hved. 


The  battle  was  not  done.    The  sun  had  rolled 
All  day  along  the  lines  of  death.    AH  day 
The  skies  had  thmdered  to  the  sounding  hiUs: 
And  all  the  live-long  day  the  blood  of  men 
Had  flowed  in  sacrifice.    The  night  had  come— 
A  night  tluit  brought  no  safety  and  no  rest— 
Our  god  was  angry—He  went  home  in  Wood- 
In  horrible  effiilgence— 

The  moi-iing  came- 
ls?'^ 'STS.rtS.  =1!  Ji==*  I1T^ri.=.   *K:=  ^^\~^.U~.Z'i^TZ.iT  fc?ll=; 

7T  ^«    «.  vaT**  iwa 


i 


mv< 


Ft  i 


Y 


H% 


C50NQUEBt  OP  PlERU. 


In  Mcrifiot  and  prayer.    The  weaiy  night-* 
The  very  heavent  too~.had  rolled  away' 
iiln  earthquake  and  in  thunder,  not  a  8pot--> 
Within  the  empty,  hollow  firmament— 
Not  even  a  cloud— wai  lefl— but  all  was  black 
With  measureless  infinity.    We  clung  to  earth«»> 
To  shrubs  and  rock8.~like  men  that  stand 
Upon  a  dizzy  precipice—and  blind 
And  giddy-KloMm— in  terrible  dismay^ 
Thus  were  we  clinging...all.~a  multitude— 
When,  suddenly!  the  dreadful  void  above. 
Was  all  illuminated!— downward  rolled, 
From  its  extremest  elevation— with  the  sound 
Of  chariots  descending— and  the  noise 
Of  volleying  whirlwinds— white  and  shining  clouds! 
All  luminous  with  glory— tumbling  round- 
In  srdoky  crimion--yeUowish  light— and  blue- 
Eddying  tumultuous!~then— evolving  slow 
All  drenched  in  blood— and  shaking  out  thick  Ught- 
In  awful  drapery— like  a  battle-sheet. 
Spread  like  a  curtain  o*er  the  sky— they  vent- 
lifting  and  breaking  in  the  wind— 

And  then  away,  away— 
O'er  the  great  water— from  the  land  of  souls— 
A  mighty  bird  went  up,  as  if  pursued- 
Toiling  and  labouring  o'er  the  solid  sky«-r 
Touching  along  the  vault,  as  if  she  sought 
Some  outlet  for  escape!       .       ,  .       . 


And  while  we  looked  above— 
The  heavens  all  motionless— a  brazen  dome-* 


CONQUEST  OP  PERU. 


255 


pu(lden--«t  once!-- we  mw  the  distant  hills 

Bend  with  the  weight  of  a  descending  God! 

Convulsive — ^yieliting—heaving  to  and  froi —         # 

And  then  we  saw  a  forest  of  great  trees 

Uprooted  from  the  earth<.>and  stnpped. 

And  hurled  aloft— in  silence!— and  we  saw 

A  mighty  river  roiUng  backward— white—  ^ 

And  fiery— to  its  source— and  not  a  sound 

Of  terror  shook  the  m\-  and  not  a  cloud 

Of  thunder  was  abroad.    But  all  was  still  and  bright*- 

And  we— in  horror— saw 
The  Invisible  at  work! 
Then  blew  a  trumpet!  and  our  Inca  came. 
Amid  the  priesthood—with  his  hair  unbound— 
And  naked  feet— tad  stood  above  the  wave— 
The  consecrated  wave— the  holy  lake— 
Whose  glossy — and  mysterious  surface  shows- 
Like  a  brigjht  mirror— in  the  blessed  sun— 
The  visions  of  the  future.    All  were  stiU— 
And  breathless  in  their  awe— and  all  stood  round— 
Upon  the  rocky  margin,  and  looked  down 
Away— below— upon  the  wlent  wave— 

'Twas  motionless  and  dim— 
And  we  grew  dizzy  with  the  sight— at  last- 
Faint  shadows  passed  athwart  it— then  arose — 
Vrom  the  extremest  edge— with  banners— smoke— 
And  arrowy  lightning — ^rolling  clouds — and  fire— 
A  band  of  martial  spirits —strangers— few, 
In  number — ^few— but  terrible!— their  step 
Was  slow—but  strong— and  like  a  band  of  brothers.. 
P 


# 


256 


CONQUEST  OP  PERU. 


They  approached!    Then--on  the  other  side 
There  came  a  throng-a  host  -a  multitude— 
•Clad  hi  white  robes- with  feathers  in  their  hair-. 
And  bow  and  quivers!- And  we  trembled,  then- 
We  knew  they  were  Peruvians!-.they  went 
With  musick  and  with  dance  to  meet  their  foe- 
Sun  of  the  skies!  how  breathlessly  we  stood! 
We  saw  them  join  in  batUe— and  we  peaied 
Our  own  Peruvian  cry  to  urge  them  on!— 
Abeady  were  their  arrows  in  the  air- 
Already  had  they  touched!...and  rang-for  lo! 
They  bounded  shivering  from  the  strangers'  hearts, 
As  they  were  indistructable!    We  groaned— 
Together,  all  at  once-Buc  soon—again— 
We  numbered  the  increasing  of  the  host 
Ar-ayed  in  white.-and  saw  the  ocean-band— 
Almost  enclosed-and  then-alpft-we  pealed 
Another  battle  cry!— 

Swift  at  the  sound,  we  saw 
The  war  revived!-but  thea-oh,  wonderful!- 
We  saw  a  creature-fashioned  like  a  man— 
His  head  on  fire-the  lightning  in  his  hand- 
Upon  a  glorious  something-bound  among 
The  snowy  host— and  then,  as  from  the  sky- 
There  rolled  a  sudden  cloud-upon  them  all- 
Streaming  with  fire!-the  lake  was  covered  o'er- 
With  eddying  smoke-The  wondrous  vision  fled- 
And  then-while  we  were  growing  breathless-there 
In  agony-to  See  the  white  smoke  clear  away— 
We  heard  the  roll  of  distant  thunder-then- 
We  turned  us  to  the  ocean— to  the  hills— 


CONQUEST  OF  PERU. 


257 


But  not  a  cloud  was  there— the  blessed  sky 
Was  all  serene;  and  now  the  passing  mist 
Had  left  the  bosom  of  the  lake  below—  ' 

O  what  a  sight!— the  snowy  band  was  gone- 
All  gone!— and  with  the  conquering  step  of  pride- 
That  creature  in  the  van!— the  strangers  went— 
Their  colours  out— and  all  their  warrior  dress. 
Gleaming  discoloured  fire-— they  passed  away— 
We  saw  it— we!— they  passed  away— away! 
O'er  the  black  water— to  the  very  side, 
That  leads  to  Peru— and  her  palaces — 
Herlncas!— andthe  Temple  of  the  Sun!— 


And  then— O  then,  our  own  great  God  appeared! 
And,  at  the  glorious  sight,  the  priesthood  blew 
Ten  thousand  silver  trumpets— and  we  fell 
Upon  our  faces  to  the  earth— and  worshipped. 

He  came!— in  triumph  came! 
A  host  of  flaming  billows  from  the  sea. 
Rose  up  and  shook  their  helmets  in  his  beam: 
Then  rolling  up  he  went-  -and  far  and  near. 
In  oily  gold  and  green— and  trembUng  fire, 
WaVy  and  rich— and  streaming  o'er  with  white    , 
And  glittering  foam — and  sunshine— red — 
And  changeable  with  gloss— the  silky  Ocean  heaved! 

O!  'twas  a  glorious  sight!— the  heavens  on  fire^ 
The  sky  one  rainbow— and  the  lovely  wave 
Reflecting  all  its  hues,  in  softened  light~» 


258 


CONQUEST  OF  PERU. 


Old  Ocean  dancing  in  the  trtmbled  gold— 
And  up  thefinnament  of  kindling  blue 
•^The  roUing  Sun  ascending  like  a  god:— 
Then  came  tlie  wonderl—o'er  the  lighted  sky 
Mysterious  musick  went~^nd  on  the  top 
Of  our  chief  temple,  something  seemed  to  move--. 
And  a  quick  glimmering  was  all  around  it^      . 
As  if  ten  thousand  steely  blades,  andspean 
Were  brandished— shaken  in  a  midnight  beam. 
Or  flourished  o'er  the  wave! 

Again  the  thunder  pealed! 
17p,  like  a  creature  newly  strung  with  life. 
Oat  Inca  sprang  from  earth.    The  wonder  came! 
Away  upon  the  dim  horizon— where  the  air 
Shone  with  a  faint  efrulgence~.where  the  blue 
Was  purest,  brightest— there  appeared— O  God! 
The  Spirit  of  the  Ocean!— all  his  wings  were  out! 
His  long  bright  hair  streamed  Uiick  upon  the  wind! 
In  thunder  he  arose!    Clouds  burnt  around  him^ 
And  o'er  the  ware,  and  through  the  rolling  smoke. 
Bushing  in  light,  he  came!— and  as  we  fled, 
Thundered  again  through  all  our  echoing  hills! 


par 

titli 

tra« 

pre 

tha 

int 

aut 

tha 

fail 

as 

th) 

mi 

a 

th 

ca 


lit , 


jve— 


Jlte! 

e 

od! 
!  out,! 
wind! 

moke. 


to  THE  REMEM. 

Of  the  fonowing  Poems  the  reader  is  «lready  pre- 
pared to  form  an  opinion.   If  he  duHke^  them,  I  am  en- 
titled  to  his  gratitude-for  in  cuUing  over  a  volume  of 
trash,  with  a  view  of  fulfilling  my  engagement,  ui  the 
preface,  Ifound  so  little  tolerable~^r  rather  endurable, 
that  I  have  selected  not  one-fifth  part  of  what  I  at  first 
intended  pubUshing.    If  tlus  is  not  a  fair  excuse,  the 
author  does  not  know  what  b.    He  believes,  however, 
that  it  win  be  a  most  acceptable  one,  for  his  breach  of 
faith-~and  if  any  of  his  readers  are  sliU  «?o  unreasonable 
as  to  complain  because  they  are  disappointed,  rather 
than  wearied-he  has  thiB-a«d  his  last  plea  to  offer-it 
must  be  effectual.    The  foWowing  pieces  are  the  bete  of 
a  whole  volume...they  may  judge  for  themselves  what 
the  rest  must  have  been-and  be  thankful  for  their  es. 
cape. 


pe 


mmm 


■immS^ 


1?EU1\\^8  YK1T0II\. 


COLUMBIA  appear!    To  thy  mountains  ascend, 

And  pour  U.y  bold  hymn  to  the  winds  and  the  wobds, 
Columbia  appear!-0'er  thy  tempebt-harp  bend, 
And  far,  to  the  nations,  its  trumpet-song  send: 

Let  thy  cliff  echoes  wake,  with  their  sun-nourished 
\  broods. 

And  chant  to  the  desert,  the  skies,  and  tlie  floods; 
And  bid  thlem  remember 
The  tenth  of  September, 
When  our  eagle  came  down  from  her  home  in  the  sky. 
And  the  souls  of  our  ancients  were  marshaUed  on  high! 

Columbia  appear!-let  thy  warriors  behold, 

Their  flag-like  a  firmament  bend  o'er  thy  head— 
The  wide-rainbow.flag~with  its  btar-clustered  ♦Sid' 
Let  the  knell  of  dark  Battle,  beneath  it,  be  tolled; 
While  the  anthem  of  peace  shaU  be  pealed  for  the 
dead. 

And  the  rude  waters  he<>vr.,  on  whose  bosom  they 
bled:  ' 

O  they  will  remember 

The  tenth  of  September, 
When  their  souls  were  let  loose  in  a  tempest  of  flame. 
And  wide  Erie  shook  at  the  trumpet  of  Fame! 


• 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


261 


o6ds, 


ished 


s; 


sky. 


the 
hey 


Columbia  appear!— Let  thy  cloud-minstrels  wake, 

As  they  march  on  tlie  storm— all  the  grandeur  of  song, 
'Till  the  far  mountains  nod,  and  the  motionless  lake 
Shall  be  mantled  in  froth— and  its  monarch  shall  quako 
On  his  green,  oozy  throne,  u  their  lumping  comes 

strong, 
With  the  chime  of  the  winds  that  are  bursting  along; 
For  he  will  remember 
The  tenth  of  September, 
Wlien  he  saw  his  dcminions  all  covered  with  foam; 
And  heard  the  loud  war  in  his  echoless  home. 

Columbia  appeai*!— Be  thine  olive  ^splayed! 

O  cheer,  with  thy  smile,  all  the  land  and  the  tide! 
Be  the  anthem  we  hear,  not  the  song  tliat  was  made, 
'When  the  victims  of  slaughter  stood  forth,  all  arrayed 
In  blood*dripping  g^arments—and  shouted — and  died: 
But,  let  us  remember 
The  tentli  of  September, 
When  the  dark  waves  of  Erie  were  brightened  to  day; 
And  the  flames  of  the  battle  were  quenched  in  their 
spray. 


roe. 


PS 


:.'M 


'■  v.  •» 


MMW 


mm. 


mm 


262 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


fSung  at  the  late  ordination  of  Mr.  Pierpom 
in  P'»»f>«,*J 

O,  THOU— the  Everlasting!— Thou. 

The  only  God!--- Jehovah! — we, 
With  all  thy  throned  archangels,  bow 

In  hymning  and  in  prayer  to  thee! 


't- 


•  I  can  offer  no  other  apology  for  having  ventured 
upon  this  species  of  composition— than  the  true  one- 
It  is  this— indignation  at  the  miserable,  trashy— not  to 
say  blasphemous,  versifications  of  scripture  abroad,  pur- 
porting to  be  Sacred  Songs— and  Diviwk  Htmss— alike 
destitute  of  magnificence' and  sublimity  -of  the  royal 
magnificence  of  Solomon-  and  the  great  simplicity  of 
Isaiah-  having  nothing  of  the  monarch,  less  of  the  pro- 
phet- and  still  less  of  the  bard  to  recommend  them,  in 
their  English  dress. 

Tlie  attempt  was  a  bold  one- and  I  feel  that  I  have 

failed— for  I  am  not  satvtfied  with  what  I  have  done: 

yet  as  I  could  not— if  I  woidd—produce  any  thing  -worae 
than  I  have  seen,  and  as  •  mght  produce  something  bet- 
ter, I  have  made  the  attempt.  May  it  lead  others— 
with  a  better  knack  at  versifying— to  a  proper  venera- 
tion for  the  noble  simplicity— and  richness— the  un- 
adulterated and  vast  sublimity  of  scripture. 


s. 


MrSCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


263 


V.  Pierponi 


w 


ving  ventured 
the  true  one 
trashy— not  to 
e  abroad,  pur- 
HTMKg— alike 
-of  the  royal 
:  simplicity  of 
ss  of  the  pro- 
nend  them,  in 

z\  that  I  have 
have  done: — 
ly  thing  viorae 
•mething  bet- 
ead  others— 
•oper  venera- 
ess— the  un- 


Around  thy  cloud-encompassed  throne^ 
Where  unseen  harps  for  ever  rinj^; 

Where, everlasting  trumps  are  blo\^n; 
And  Kings — and  Bards— and  Prophets  sing- 

We  kneel— O,  God! — with  them  that  were 
Thy  chosen  ones  on  earth: — we  bow, 

With  crowned  multitudes,  in  prayer. 
And  ask  th    blessing— Fatlier,  now. 

On  this,  thy  flock,  assembled  here, 
And  him  tuut  thou  hast  called  to  thee, 

Commissioned,  Father!- to  appear, 
In  thy  cunsunting  ministry: 

0,  Thou!  —to  whom  thy  people  came. 
In  ancient  time — withsongs  and  prayerd: 

Whose  servant  saw  thee,  wrapped  in  flame— 
0  be  our  God,  as  thou  art  theirs! 


TO 


■'TIS  tni«— I  have  not  known  thee  long; 

Yet  I  have  wo'  hipped— blamed— and  loved  thee; 

For  thou*rt  so  11   j  a  thing  of  song, 

Tho*^^  I  have  dreamt  of— ardent— young — 

Cfiujjiging  with  every  thing  that  moved  thee: 
P4  ' 


t64 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


!  WiM 


Thit  I  have  dwelt  upon  thine  eye, 
So  happy--clear~-aiul  mild-  and  blue, 

'Till  I  have  leen  the  luvelieit  sky! 

Come  down  in  a  diitolving  dye, 
And  drop  with  heaven— and  light— and  dew? 

At  night  I've  prayed  'till  I  have  wept, 

To  think  what  sorrows  might  beset  thee; 
While  visions  to  my  bosom  crept, 
'Till  I  ibrgot  to  breathe— and  slept— 

But— even  in  sle^ip— could  not  forget  thee: 
Again  would  come  thy  soft  blue  eye, 

Melting  again  in  ligl\t  and  love; 
Again  thy  lip  would  change  its  dye. 
My  soul  would  leave  my  lip—and  T> 

Would  wander  in  my  dreams  abovet 
Then  heart— to  heart— I'd  meet  thee,  where, 

A  pure,  transparent  heaven  was  swelling»- 
'  I'd  feel  the  floating  of  thy  hair 
Upon  my  breast— and  kneel  in  prayer 

With  thee— with  thee!— in  thy  blue  dwelling. 


But  then — oh!  we  should  never  wake. 
When  dreams  like  these  sing  to  our  heart— 

Nor  ever,  by  one  murmur,  break 

The  charm  that  binds  tlieir  wing— they  take 
Such  long— long  farewells  v^hen  they  part; 

Briglit  one,  adieu!— no  hour  is  near. 
When  I  may  pour  my  thought*  to  thce-^ 


mmim 


MlBCluLLAK£0t8  PIECES. 


m 


ThouMt  be  my  soul  enchantment  dew, 
Yet  will  thou  never  know  it  hero— 
But  iomc  t'rciih  day  -wmc  iummeryear, 
In  yon  blue  heaven,  we'll  both  appear— 
Just  like  my  dream»-~aa  pure-- as  free. 


The  following  Unci  were  haitUy—yery  haatily  written, 
on  seeing  the  celebrated  Mr.  Wood  touch  offa 
likeneiS"'a«  usual— in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

To  ttie  6en\Ti8  of  Tainting. 


YOUNG  wanton  of  our  sunniest  dreaming! 

^      Dear  child  of  heaven! 
With  lighted  eye— and  loose^hair  streuning, 
Like  meteors  o'er  the  brow  of  even! 
Who  comest— strangely  fair, 
And  sittest  on  the  air, 
With  pencil  dripping  light!— and  eye 
Intent  on  nature's  imagery, 
To  catch  her  fleetest,  loveUest  beaming. 

0  stay  thy  fairy  mimickry— 

Suspend  thy  Ufe-enkindling  power- 
One  moment—wanton!— while  •  try 
To  show  thee  to  the  world,  as  I 
Have  seen  thee  in  my  lonely  hour: 


;? 


t.  JV^.4|»     *f^  ■*•-' 


'A,   ,r)lt  ' 


I 


n\0fm'^ 


■I" »— « 


■  »iln ■— W— *"■>" 


•*)t' 


«# 


266 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES: 


O,  grant  my  prayer! 
Withhold  thy  hand  awhile— 
Thy  wondrous  hand—and  smile- 
Bind  up  thy  streaming  hair. 
That  I  may  catch  thee,  chUd  of  heaven! 
And  show  tliee— as  to  me  thou*rt  given. 
See  ye— 'tis  there!— how  blithsomely  it  goes— 
With  every  feather  trembDng -round  it  fiowi, 
An  air-spun  mantle,  poloured  with  the  rose. 

That  if  the  genius!— see! 
How  gloriously,  wild  and  free- 
All  light,  and  fire,  and  energy! 
How  carelessly  he  treads  the  air. 
Collecting  hues  and  sun-beams  there- 
And  flashing— sprinkling— all  about— 
The  canvass  that's  before  \-im— 

Ten  thousand  tints  of  -nameless  hue 

Of  mingling  sunshine— tender  blue— 
The  gushing  of  the  happy  heart. 
The  lustre  of  the  kindling  eye- 
When  lifted  to  the  evening  sky — 
Now  pausing— dwelling-touching  out 
The  secret  meaning  of  each  part—  . 
The  faint  and  tearful  tenderness — 
The  thought  that  nothing  can  express— 
O,  who  would  not  adore  him! 

'Tis  done— the  mingling  tints  g^w  warm- 
Within  the  wash  appears  a  form,   ' 
Peering  like  Iris  thro*  the  storm;-.. 


•«• 


uJ 


?r¥ 


'T' 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES, 


♦  * 


m 


The  lightning— that  he  caught  but  now 
From  yonder  clnud— beneath  a  brow, 
Of  loveliness  and  roguery. 
Is  flashing  fast  and  wickedly. 
You've  «*8een  it!"— hey?— you  ''know  that  face?"- 
«*The  young  coquette!'*— -all  light  and  grace: 
»Tis  she  indeed— and  now,  the  tint 
That  on  his  fire-tipped  pencil  dwelt— 
A  rose-bud's  heart  that  seemed  to  melt- 
Is  changed  into  a  lip— and  now  the  dew, 
That  he  just  pilfered  from  a  flower- 
Yet  freshly  weeping  from  a  shower. 
Is  sprinkled  o'er  its  pulpy  red— 
And  now        -        .        -        -        - 

My  conscience!  what  a  chase  I'm  led 
This  painting-HSure— the  devil's  in't. 


I'-'VE  loved  (o  hear  the  waf-horn*s  cry,  - 

And  panted  at  the  drum's  deep  roll; 
And  held  my  breath,  when— flaming  Wgh- 
I've  seen  our  starry  banners  fly. 
As  challenging  the  haughty  sky. 
They  stirred  tlie  battle  in  my  soul: 
For  I  was  so  adventurous  then, 
J  burnt  to  be  the  slave — of  men. 


26S 


-  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES 


^Pl 


rve  looked  upon  the  jnoming*  light, 

Flushing  ita  standard  far  and  freci 
And  seen  it  stn'ggle  with  the  night, 
And  loved  it,  for  it  told  of  fight; 
And  every  flash  that  triumph'd  bnght, 
Seemed  glance  of  glorious  liberty! 
For  I  was  fanciful  and  wild, 
*  As  youthful  Freedom's  freest  child. 

I've  sailed  upon  the  dark-blue  deep: 

IVe  shouted  to  the  eaglet  soaring* 
And  hung  me  from  a  rocking  steep, 
When  all  but  spirits  were  asleep; 
And  oh,  my  very  soul  would  leap! 
To  hear  its  gallant  waters  roaringj 
For  every  sound  that  told  of  life, 
Tome,  was  but  the  voice  of  strife. 

But,  I  ain  strangely  altered  now— 

I  love  no  more  the  bugle's  voice<— 
The  rushing  wave — the  plunging  prow- 
The  aiountMn's  tempest-clouded  brow— 
The  daring-~the  exulting  flow 

Of  all  that  made  me  once  rejoice.- 
I've  learnt  to  talk  of  tears—and  sighs— 
And  locks  of  gold—and  dying  eyes! 


M 


?5S^^ 


MlSCELLANEOyS  PIECES. 


2^ 


HARK',  'tit  the  harp's  wild  minstrel  tone, 
Couvulftive-qmvering-strange  and  lone; 
Mow  bunting  on  the  ear-now  gone— 

Sim  piping  'mid  the  breeze,  as  tho'  it  told 
That  «nne  bright  spirit  had  to  heaven  flown, 
And  angel-trumpets  had  its  welcome  blownl 

And  now,  so  full  of  porop-so  decp-»o  bold. 
So  «trong-8o  steady  were  its  numbers  roU  d. 
As  if  Prediction  smote  its  trembUng  chords. 
And  with  the  weight  of  prophecy  oppressed  them; 
Then  «nch  rich  tones  concealed  her  fearful  words, 
As  if  dear  Pity  had  herself  expressed  them: 
So  indistinct  these  murmurs  were. 
They  seemed,  sometimes,  still  less  than  air; 
Sometimes-as  if  the  shrinking  strings 
Were  swept  by  Phrensy's  burning  winga- 
Now  with  an  unknown  spirit  speaking, 
Now  ringing  fierce  and  sharp!  now  low, 
Witii  startling  nearness,  pealing  now, 
Now-^stant-faint-^and  ^ad-and  sW- 
Like  Feeling's  murmurs,  when  her  heart  is  breaking: 
Or  sounds  we  dream  of.  when  our  souls  are  waking. 
Now  hkft  the  flute,  whose  trancing  note. 
In  visions,  o'er  our  memories  float. 
As  aU  along  the  trembling  air 
It  seems  to  send  its  spirit  there; 
Andnow-the  pipe's  deep,  drowsy,  breath, 
Complaming  Uke  the  march  of  death- 


s 

■* 


•  ~. j*.»  a**- 


1 


270 


»•#?* 


'■  '( 


i1 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES- 


And  now,  the  fiery  hautboy's  cry, 
Kclmng  along  tl^e  dear  blue  sky! 
And  now-a  lightly  shouting  strain. 
As  if,  across  the  slumbering  main, 
Grekn  Emi5's  lUHns-a  shadowy  train- 
Were  turting  all  theii-  harps  again: 
And  now-the  ar-Jent-quivering  lyre 
Plashing  and  chiming  higheiwhigi,er». 
And  now  the  sea-nymph's  winding  shell, 
Stealing  like  sighs  through  ocean  cell- 
Prom  where  the  minstrel  mermaids  dweU: 
Now  a  sdvery  sob,  as  of  elf-babe  straying- 
Now  distant,  yet  clear,  hke  fairy-steed  ne'ighing, 
*  When  ,t  springs  on  the  air  with  a  spirited  «hnke 
And  ,s  answered  again  from  the  hare-bell  and  brake: 
And  bnght  little  warriors  jump  up._  all  awake! 
When  the  cry  of  their  bugles  are  heard  for  the  strife 
And  ,t  gallops  abroad  fuU  of  laughter  and  life  ' 

Whenadiamond.edgedscymetarswingsfrom'each«ide. 
And  their  streamers  singclearly  and  sharp  as  they  ride 
When  Echo  leans  forward  and  mimicks  the  sound 
And  Melody  leaps  to  their  helmet's  fine  ringing- 
And  the  minstrels  of  fairy.land,  prancing  around 
On  cymbai.hoofedchargers-.are  shouting  and  fnging, 

An4thesweet,bustlingsoundsareaUdancingandligh 
As  If  spirits  of  harmony  mingledin  fight 

And  clank'd  their  tonM  armour,  and  pou^d  their  sweet 

breath, 
In  a  struggle  for  Melody's  wind-woven  wreath. 


wt»ii  WMirtM  rti  iiii  HI  ^  nil*'  I  Wi|||iji<ilii  1 1  '■.Ju. 


MJlR»iT»d» 


II, 

S» 
te, 

brake; 
j 

5  strife, 

ach  side, 
^py  ride; 
iind, 

r; 

id, 

inging-,   ^ 
nd  light, 

r  sweet 


The  following  errors  occur  in  a  few  copies  only; 
most  of  them  having  betn  discovered  before  the  forai 
was  entirely  worked  oft". 

In  the  Dedication,  for  yoiir's  read  yonrn;  page  7,  line 
9,  for  ita  read  their;  line  12,  for  it  read  they,-  page  17, 
for  "we  have  worn  Uie  ofriniona  of  her  criticism  on  all 
subjects,"  read  "we  have  worn  the  opinions  of  Rome— 
her  criticism  on  all  subjects;"  page  38,  line  25,  for  it 
read  tkem;  p-'ge  45,  for  "they  pass  like  thoughts  o'er  a 
clear  bhie  «%,*'  read  "they  pass  like  thoughts  o'er  a 
clear-blue  eye;"  pa^    56,  line  3,  for  glkiered  read  glitter- 
intf:  line  20,  for  filicitous,  read  felicitous:- page  82 — 
the  reader  will  understand  by  these  words  "  Tuk  timb 
BMP^OTKn  IS  TiiREK  DATs" — '    t  the  time  of  the/r»«  carim 
to,  as  it  wotild  seem  from  the  position  of  the  words— but 
the  time  of  tlie  whole  poem;  page  98,  line  6,  for  qvita 
read  ti«««;  page  110,  line  11,  substitute  a  comma  for 
the  sendcolon,  at  the  end  of  the  line— the  sens'-  (if  there 
be  any,)  is  materially  affected  by  the  present  reading: 
page  116,  line  27,  substitute  9.  period  for  a  comma,-  page 
IS*,  Une  8,  for  give  vcad  sfiy en,-  page  235,  Unej26,  for 
■ivei'e  read  we're,-  page  236,  line  9,  for  angeVa  -winga  read 
angd--wings,'  this  important  alteration  is  made  that  the 
Une  may  be  decently  musical. 

The  reader  is  desired  to  spell  watriowr,  terro7ir,  and 
such  words  with  an  n,  throughout  the  whole  book.  I 
am  not  particularly  partial  to  Dr.  Johnson,  but  I  have 
sufficient  respect  to  the  best  standard  in  our  langi.age, 
to  folh)w  it,  even  in  trifles— and  I  did  follow  it,  but  tlie 
hnftrovementa  of  the  printer  have  rendered  this  note  ne- 
cessary. 

And,  finally,  the  reader  will  oe  good  enough  to  add 
the  following  note  to  page  56,  referring  to  it  from  the 
word  poetm  the  f'c  luso.  It  was  omitted  in  an  unac- 
countable raanno.  #* 


(        272        ) 


1  i 


JVo^c— -Or  rather,  that  criticism  w&s  poetry:  for  I 
have  some  reason  to  beUeve — and  have  said  so  from  the 
first,  tho'  aaauftd  to  the  contrary,  from  what  1  regarded 
s^s  the  best  authority—that  both  of  these  criticisms  were 
from  the  same  pen!  If  I  am  right— I  have  only  to  say  that 
my  judgment  is  founded  on  the  composition— not  on 
the  authors.  It  is  very  possible  for  a  random  criticism  to 
hit  juc^ciorisly  sometimes— and  to  appear,  when  it  does, 
as  the  con&equence  of  good  taste  and  correct  feeling 
—perhaps  too,  of  even  a  poetical  im^nation.  If  I  am 
right— and  I  b«lieve  I  am,  I  can  only  wonder  that  a  tole- 
rable genius  may  be  so  miserably  eclipsed— a  tolerable 
taste,  tur^«<^  so  cruelly  awry;  and  then  offer  one  word  of 
advice  to  t  u  author:— it  is  this— if  you  are  praised  for  a 
good  thing,  don't  repeat  it:  the  prettiest  thoughts  are 
apt  to  become  mighty  silly  in  the  second  edition>-parti- 
cu'arlyi  when  the  autk  or  has  time  enough  to  be  original 
—and  too  Uttle  quickalver  in  his  composition  to  be  be- 
lie^.. I  when  he  says  that,  in  the  hurry  of  his  feeling,  he 
stole  from  him.  Jf.  Besides,  and  you  would  do  well  to 
remember  it—a  very  just  and  very  pretty  remark  made 
on  one  subject,  mav  become  very  stupid,  pert  and  ridi- 
culous, when  applied  to  another.  So,  be  careful!— and 
if  you  should  chance  to  be  praised  again  for  saying  a 
fairai't  thing— take  care  not  to  repeat  it  in  the  same  com' 
pnny,  at  least,  Hill  yo\i  are  very  sure  At  will  apply. 


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